PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


BV  4900  .M23  1855 
MacFarlane,  John,  1807-1874 
The  night  lamp 


Shelf.. 


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'T/y^^^/t^/^ir^^ 


THE 


NIGHT    LAMP. 


'  Tlie  Scriptures  are  the  well -furnished  dispensatory  of  all  sovereign 
remedies — the  rich  magazine  of  all  true  comforts — the  complete  armoury 
of  all  spiritual  weapons,  and  the  unerring  compass  to  guide  to  the  haven 
of  glory.' — FisnEK. 


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LONDON, 


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THE  NIGHT  LAMP: 


%  Barratibt 


THE    MEANS    BY    WHICU    SPIRITUAL    DARKNESS    WAS    DISPELLED 
FROM    THE    DEATH-BED    OP 


AGNES  MAXWELL  MACEAELANE, 


Rev.  JOHN  MACFARLANE,  LL.D. 

Author  of  Hiding  Place,  Mountains  of  the  Bible,  &c. 


THY  WORD  IS  A  LAMP  UNTO  MY  FEET.— Psalm  csix. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

WILLIAM  S.  &  ALFRED  MARTIEN, 

144  Chestnut  Street. 

1855. 


i\ 


PREFACE. 


About  eighteen  years  ago,  the  Diary  was  written  from 
which  these  Memorials  are  now  compiled.  During 
the  long  period  of  his  Sister's  illness,  the  Author  took 
regular  notes  of  what  passed  between  them.  After  her 
death,  he  prepared  from  these  a  manuscript  memoir 
of  the  dying  scene  for  the  sole  benefit  of  the  relatives. 
It  never  was  his  intention  that  other  eyes  should  see, 
or  other  ears  should  hear  of  it.  The  document,  how- 
ever, found  its  way  out  of  the  relative  circle ;  copies 
of  it  were  also  taken  ;  and  the  Author  became  anxious 
lest  some  indiscreet  but  well-meaning  friend  might 
give  it  still  farther  publicity.  Under  this  impression 
he  did  eveiythiiig  in  his  power  to  prevent  its  circula- 
tion ;  and  though  he  has  been  often  and  urgently 
entreated  to  give  it  to  the  world,  he  never  feh  at 
hberty  to  do  so,  chiefly  for  two  reasons,  viz.,  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  subject  of  the  Memoir  was  so 
nearly  related  to  him,  and  the  necessarily  conspicuous 

place  which  he  himself  occupies  in  the  narrative. 

a  2 


VI  PREFACE. 

It  SO  happened  that  in  the  course  of  last  summer, 
the  original  manuscript  returned  to  him,  after  an 
absence  of  some  years.  He  re-perused  it,  and  was 
strongly  impressed  that  it  was  his  duty  to  re-compose 
it  for  publication.  He  decided  on  doing  so,  and  the 
present  work  is  the  result.  His  reigning  motive  has 
been  to  do  good  by  this  humble  instrument  to  the 
souls  of  many,  especially  of  the  young  and  thought- 
less, who,  while  they  have  a  '  name  to  live,  are  in 
reality  dead.'  This  motive  has  been  powerful  enough 
to  overcome  his  original  dislike  to  publication,  though 
for  the  same  reasons  still,  he  makes  the  venture  with 
considerable  reluctance. 

The  reports  of  the  death-bed  exercises  are  taken 
almost  verbatim  from  the  Author's  memoranda.  The 
instances  in  which  he  has  found  it  necessaiy  (rather 
than  leave  any  part  of  the  nan*ative  unintelligible)  to 
draw  upon  recollection  or  conjecture,  are  so  few  as  to 
be  unworthy  of  specification.  Had  the  idea  of  future 
publication  been  in  his  mind  when  he  daily  recorded 
what  passed  in  the  sick  chamber,  he  could  have 
enriched  the  work  much  beyond  any  value  that  it  may 
be  thought  to  possess.  As  it  is,  he  lays  it  at  the  feet 
of  the  blessed  Redeemer,  with  the  fervent  prayer  that 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.  Y\\ 

he  would  be  pleased  to  advance,  by  means  of  it,  his 
o^\ni  glory  in  the  spiritual  well-being  of  immortal 
souls. 

Glasgow,  Middleton  House, 
December,  1850. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


The  Author  is  thankful  to  the  '  God  of  all  grace '  for 
the  favoiu*  which  has  been  sho^^^l  to  this  work — tlie 
rehgious  public  having  called  for  a  Second  Edition 
within  little  more  than  four  months  from  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  first.  His  mind  is  now  at  rest  as  to 
the  propriety  of  his  decision — tardy  it  may  have  been 
— to  publish  this  narrative.  The  verdict  as  to  its 
usefulness  has  been  unanimous,  and  with  this  he 
ought  to  be,  and  is  content.  It  is  his  fervent  prayer 
that  it  ma}'  be  still  further  honoured,  to  comfort  the 
disconsolate,  to  strengthen  the  feeble,  to  startle  the 
self-deceived,  and  above  all,  to  guide  the  young  to  the 
'  Good  Shepherd,'  who  has  promised  to  '  gather  the 
lambs  with  his  arms,  and  caiT}'  them  in  his  bosom.' 


yiii  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDIl  lOX. 

So  fai'  as  he  has  observed,  two  exceptions  of  impor- 
tance have  been  taken  to  the  Memou'.  The  first  has 
respect  to  the  conversion  of  his  sister  on  her  death- 
bed, and  some  think  that  this  great  change  must  have 
passed  upon  her  at  an  earher  period.  This  was  pre- 
cisely his  own  opinion  for  a  long  time,  and  indeed 
he  has  nowhere  in  the  narrative  (so  far  as  he  is  aware) 
asserted  the  opposite.  It  is  now,  however,  a  growing 
conviction  in  his  mind,  from  all  he  can  recollect  of  her 
life,  that  she  was  not  'in  Christ  Jesus'  till  the  period 
at  wliich  she  herself  constantly  affirmed  she  had  been 
'  born  again.'  And  it  is  to  this  feature  of  the  book 
that  he  would  invite  the  serious  attention  of  the  young 
christian  professor,  as  perhaps  the  most  useful  one  of 
the  whole.  The  second  exception  refers  to  the  opinion 
he  has  expressed  on  novel-reading.  Notwithstanding 
the  high  respect  which  he  feels  towards  some  who  have 
pronounced  his  views  on  this  subject  as  '  belated  and 
childish  bigotry,'  he  cannot  forego  them.  No  doubt 
the  novels  of  the  present  day  are  a  great  improvement 
upon  those  of  a  former  generation ;  still,  in  a  work  de- 
signed to  influence  the  young,  the  Author  repudiates 
the  idea  of  giving  even  the  slightest  mark  of  approba- 
tion to  a  class  of  books  which  are  for  the  most  pai't 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.  ix 

written  for  the  mere  amusement  of  the  idle  <and  the 
frivolous.  It  is  one  thing  to  say  that  Dr  Chalmers 
and  Robert  Hall  might  at  a  time  peruse  a  volume  of 
Scott,  or  Bulwer,  or  Dickens,  and  a  very  chfferent 
matter  altogether  to  advise  the  young  to  such  a 
practice.  '  If  any  youth,'  says  Maurice  D wight  in 
his  book  on  'reading  fictitious  and  impure  works,' 
'  would  stand  before  the  world  "an  honest  man,  the 
noblest  work  of  God,"  he  must  draw  on  higher  and 
pxu'er  sources  than  works  of  fiction,  and  graduate  in  a 
better  school  of  morals  than  that  to  which  the  novelist 
or  the  tragedian  invites  him.'  With  the  folio Vv'ing  ex- 
cellent remarks  of  his  esteemed  friend  the  Rev.  Dr 
Mackelvie,  the  author  entirely  coincides  :  '  The  mind 
takes  its  complexion  in  part  from  the  books  with  which 
it  has  been  conversant  in  early  life.  .  .  .  Many 
persons  are  alive  to  the  dangers  of  bad  company,  who 
are  insensible  to  those  which  flow  from  bad  books,  and 
many  books  are  bad  in  their  tendency  which  are  not 
bad  in  their  materials.'  * 

1st  June,  1851. 

*  Memoir  of  Rev.  James  Hay,  D.D. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


With  the  exception  of  a  few  verbal  alterations,  this 
edition  is  the  same  as  that  which  preceded  it. 

It  may  be  of  vise  to  call  the  attention  of  the 
reader  to  the  references  which  the  Author  has  made 
to  his  new  work,  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  and  wherein 
are  to  be  found  more  full  and  satisfactory  explanations 
of  the  subjects  of  the  death-bed  colloquies  in  this 
volume.  In  the  '  Memoir '  itself  it  would  have  been 
improper  to  have  discussed  at  length  either  doctrinal 
or  experimental  topics.  But  if  the  anxious  mquii'er 
Avish  complete  and  connected  views  of  these,  he  will 
find  them  in  'The  Hiding  Place,'  and  especially 
in  those  chapters  of  that  work  which  are  specially 
referred  to  in  this  edition  of  '  The  Night  Lamp.' 

1st  March,  1853. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  I. — Ancestral  Piety. 

Page 

Maternal  faith  and  triumph  in  Death — Celestial  visitations  to  dying 
believers — Dr  Gordon — A  Child — The  Minister's  daughter — 
Supernatural  revelations  to  saints  on  their  death-beds  not  un- 
scriptural  nor  uncommon,       _------! 

Chapter  II. — The  Pastor's  Death. 

Paternal  piety  and  grief — Letters  to  Captain  Husband — Letters  of 
consolation  from  Dr  Lawson,  Dr  Dick,  Dr  Henry  Belfrage,  Dr 
Wardlaw,  and  Dr  John  Brown — Death  and  character  of  Dr 
Husband — Mr  Brown  of  Inverkeitbing — Death-bed  testimonies 
of  Agnes'  Father,  __-._---     20 

Chapter  III. — Early  Nurture  and  Admonition. 

Hereditary  friendship — A  scene  in  the  Manse  at  Dunfermline  with 
the  Orphans— Eai'ly  days  of  Agnes — Novel  reading — The  Wa- 
verley  Novels — Last  night  in  tlie  Manse — Removal  to  Edinburgh 
— Residence  at  Lougridge — Education  there— Progress — Return 
to  Dunfermline,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -57 

Chapter  IV. — The  Farewells  of  Life. 

Education  prosecuted — Death  of  Mrs  Dewar — Visit  to  Mrs  Aber- 
crombie  in  Edinburgh — Goes  to  the  boarding  establishment  of 
Miss  "White— Sisterly  love — Death  of  her  sister-in-law — Ex- 
tracts from  Agnes'  Correspondence — Visits  Rew  in  Perthshire — 
Scenery  there  — Visits  the  Author  at  Kincardine — Returns  to 
Luscar  House — Attentions  to  a  sick  brother — Becomes  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Church — Importance  of  this  step — Pre-requisites — 
Goes  to  Edinburgh — Correspondence — Her  love  of  society — 
Anonymous  Letter — Estimate  of  her  by  a  young  ft-iend — Her 
last  visit  to  Dunfermline — Commencement  of  her  illness,  -     87 

Chapter  V. — The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  Entered. 

First  interview  on  her  sick-'bed  with  the  Author — First  alarm  of 
relatives — The  duty  of  informing  the  dying  of  their  situation 
— Painful  attempt  at  this — A  failure — The  young  heart  not 
easily  alarmed — The  first  use  of  the  '  Night  Lamp ' — Her  an- 
xious thoughts — Her  fears — Her  unbelief— Efforts  to  dispel  them 
unsuccessful — Divine  decrees — Neander — Serious  conversations  — 
The  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost — Increasing  uneasiness  both  of 
body  and  mind,  -.-.._..  128 


xn  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  VI. — The  Rise  of  Faith. 

Page 

Solicitude  about  her  conversion — A  hope  that  it  had  taken  place — 
Sabbath  in  the  sick  chamber — Her  hymns — Her  first  alarms 
about  Death — Interviews  with  Dr  Halley  of  Troy,  and  Mr  Brown 
of  Inverkeithing — Her  melancholy  thoughts — Conversations  with 
her  Brother — Death  contemplated  with  less  aversion — UnbeUef 
giving  way — Faith  rising — Preparation  for  Death  now  begun  in 
earnest — Her  Conversion,      -         -         -         -         -         -         -168 

Chapter  VII. — The  Growth  of  Grace. 

Interview  with  friends — Calmness  of  mind  in  the  midst  of  solemn 
work — Peaceful  anticipation  of  Heaven — Conversations  with  her 
Brother — The  precious  blood  of  Christ — Anecdote  of  her  Father 
— Second  interview  with  Dr  Halley — Mrs  Cunningham's  account 
of  her  interviews  with  Agues,  -____.  204 

Chapter  VIII. — The  Fruits  of  Peace. 

A  series  of  Conversations  with  the  Author  on  important  subjects, 
evidencing  her  progress  in  spirituality  and  heavenly-mindedness 
— Her  great  and  increasing  sufferings — Her  beautiful  patience — 
A  dark  cloud  comes — Dr  Halley 's  last  interview  with  her— Her 
love  of  devotion — She  wearies  for  her  translation — Takes  pleasure 
in  reading  out  of  Willison — Peculiarities  in  her  death-bed  work,     229 

Chapter  IX. — The  Assurance  of  Hope. 

No  sameness  in  religion — Evident  in  the  experiences  of  dying  saints 
— Illustrated  in  Agnes — Her  godly  jealousy — Conversations  with 
the  Author — Love  of  Praj^er — Reminiscences  of  Dr  Belfrage  at 
the  Lord's  table — Her  weakness  greatly  increases — Symptoms  of 
Death — Her  Hope  sure  and  steadfast — One  little  cloud — Dissi- 
pated by  the  '  Night  Lamp  ' — Great  sufferings — Desires  to  know 
what  may  be  the  time  of  her  departure— The  full  assurance  of 
her  hope— Dying  ecstasies — A  parting  scene,  _         .         _  256 

Chapter  X. — Death  and  the  Grave. 

Simplicity  the  character  of  Agnes'  dying  testimony — God's  won- 
derful goodness- -Her  last  Sabbath  on  earth — Sublime  scene 
— Farewell  interview  with  her  eldest  Brother— Her  latest  testi- 
mony— Her  last  day— Her  last  moment — Mr  Brown  of  luver- 
keithing's  visit  after  her  Death — Removal  of  the  body  to  Dun- 
fermline--The  Scenery  by  the  way — Crossing  at  Queensfei-ry 
by  Moonlight  -Interment  in  the  Abbey  Cemetery — Concluding 
reflections,  ---______  296 


THE 


NIGHT     LAMP. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Ancestral    ^tetg. 

'  But  a  gentler  death 
A  christian  never  died.     Methought  her  soul 
Faded  in  light,  even  as  a  glorious  star 
Is  hidden  'mid  the  splendours  of  the  morn.' 

John  Wilson. 

It  was  evening — a  serene  evening  in  the  month  of 
May,  1816 — and  it  was  at  the  ancient  town  of  Dun- 
fermline, in  Fifeshire,  and  within  the  bed-chamber  of 
a  dying  lady,  that  the  following  affecting  and  sublime 
scene  occurred.  On  the  7th  of  May,  she  had  given 
birth  to  her  seventh  son.  There  was  joy  beneath  the 
roof-tree  of  her  happy  mansion.  Suddenly  that  joy 
was  turned  into  mourning.  Her  physicians  pro- 
nounced the  case  hopeless ;  and  about  ten  o'clock,  on 
the  night  of  Monday  the  13th,  she  took  farewell  of 
her  family  and  friends.  Her  parting  with  the  chil- 
dren was  one  of  those  touching  scenes  which,  though 


2  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

indescribable,  can  never  be  forgotten.  Already  had 
she  given  her  last  embrace  to  her  seven  boys ;  and 
now  her  only  daughter,  a  sweet-looking  child  of  about 
five  years  of  age,  was  raised  to  receive  the  kiss  and 
the  blessing  of  a  dying  mother.  Heaven  is  hearing 
that  silent  prayer — the  name  of  the  lovely  child  is 
now  registering  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life — and  when 
a  few  years  have  fled  away,  the  answer  to  the  prayer 
will  be  seen  pouring  forth  in  those  streams  of  holy  joy 
which  refresh  the  soul,  in  earnestly  working  out  its 
own  salvation. 

'And  now,'  feebly  uttered  this  christian  mother, 
'  I  know  that  God  will  provide  for  these  dear  infants. 
I  SEE  IT — I  BELIEVE  IT ;  for  God  hath  said  it.' 

'  Yes,  my  dear  Grace,'  replied  the  Eev.  Dr  Hus- 
band, a  venerable  old  man,  her  father,  who  stood 
beside  her  pillow  :  '  the  Lord  will  provide.'  * 

'  I  mean  so,  father,'  said  the  lady. 

'  Your  dear  Redeemer,'  he  added,  '  will,  I  hope, 
shield  you  from  every  danger,  and  conduct  you  safely 
to  your  heavenly  Father's  bosom.' 

'  Yes — O  yes ! '  and  at  intervals  she  repeated  the 
assent — her  mind  evidently  being  taken  up  with  the 
remark,  and  her  faith  appropriating  it. 

She  had  already  one  daughter  in  heaven.  The 
death  of  that  child  had  exceedingly  grieved  her  hus- 
band. Her  own  heart  was  likewise  smitten  with  a 
sadness  peculiar  to  a  mother's  sorrow  for  the  death  of 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  59-63. 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  3 

an  infant  ;  but  with  her  natural  strength  of  mind,  and 
her  deep  piety,  she  had  been  enabled  to  suppress  her 
own  tears,  in  order  to  wipe  away  his.  He  had  often, 
in  her  hearing,  said  that  this  bereavement  had  added 
a  new  attraction  to  heaven  ;  and  when  alluding  to  the 
beatitudes  of  that  unseen  world,  he  would  eloquently 
dwell  on  the  ecstacy  of  parents  meeting  there  with 
those  dear  children  who  had  gone  before  them. 

'  I  am  not  without  hopes,'  she  said,  in  reference  to 
this,  '  of  meeting  with  my  dear  mother  and  my  dear 
little  Margaret  in  heaven.  Ah  !  Mr  Macfarlane  will 
envy  me  that.' 

There  was  no  time  to  reply.  The  last  moment  Avas 
at  hand.  Her  features,  but  now  pale  and  languid, 
assumed  an  unearthly  beauty.  Her  eye,  but  now 
dull  and  heavy,  was  lighted  up  as  from  some  invisible 
glory.  Her  voice,  but  now  scarcely  audible,  took  on 
strength  and  distinctness  of  tone.  The  weeping  circle 
around  her  stood  in  silent  awe. 

'  What  do  I  see  ? '  she  exclaimed — '  O,  what  do 
I  see  r 

They  looked  upwards,  as  she  did,  but  they  saw 
nothing. 

'  Wings  !  Wings  !  Wings  !'  she  added,  with  a 
most  heavenly  expression  in  every  feature. 

They  that  were  of  the  earth  dared  not  yet  to  speak. 

'Fly!  Fly!  FlyM'  said  the  expiring  conqueror : 
'  O  why  is  his  chariot  so  long  in  coming  ?  —  wh}' 
tarry  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  *? ' 


4  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  Do  you  mean  angels,  Grace  ?  Do  you  see  them? ' 
inquired  Dr  Husband. 

'  Yes,'  she  replied :  '  angels  to  conduct  me  safely 
liome  !' 

Having  thus  spoken,  she  teas  not;  for  the  Lord 
took  her. 

This  was  the  closing  scene  in  the  life  of  the  mother 
of  her  whose  death-bed  work  is  to  be  described  in 
the  following  pages.  The  only  daughter  over  whom 
this  mother  breathed  that  latest  pra3'er  was  Agnes 
Maxwell  Macfaelane,  who  was  born  in  Dun- 
fermline, Fifeshire,  5th  February,  1811. 

It  must  be  admitted  that,  in  the  scene  described. 
Death  appears  stripped  of  his  terrors.  This  lady  had 
lived  the  life  of  fiith.  From  her  earliest  years  she 
gave  evidence  of  her  conversion  to  God.  As  the 
much-loved  daughter  of  one  christian  minister,  she 
had  enjoyed,  in  the  manse  at  Dunfermline,  every  holy 
privilege  both  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  improve- 
ment. As  the  wife  of  another  minister — her  father's 
colleague  and  successor — she  had  adorned  and  digni- 
fied not  only  the  happy  precincts  of  her  own  sweet 
home,  but  that  large  and  influential  circle  of  society 
wdiich  at  that  period,  in  the  West  of  Fife,  continued  to 
be  attached  to  the  church  over  which  the  illustrious 
Ralph  Eeskine  presided  to  the  period  of  his  death. 
Her  days  had  passed  away  amid  scenes  of  unpretend- 
ing but  genuine  godliness.  Of  the  seed  of  the 
righteous,  she  had  received  the  blessing  that  is  pro- 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  f) 

mised  to  them  ;  and  among  the  '  followers  of  them 
who,  through  faith  and  patience,  were  inheriting  the 
promises,'  she  had  never  been  withdrawn  from  the 
influence  of  their  simple  piety,  and  had  never  been 
exposed  to  the  blighting  and  dangerous  examples  of  a 
religious  profession  without  religious  principles.  Holv 
and  venerable  ministers  of  God — with  not  a  few  of 
whom  that  countrj-side  was  then  marvellously  blessed 
— had  been  her  chosen  and  chief  associates.  She  had 
sat  from  a  girl  at  their  feet.  She  had  been  taught 
her  theolog}'  from  their  lips.  She  had  drunk  dee[) 
into  their  spirit,  and  followed  them  '  in  the  regenera- 
tion.' And  now,  when  she  had  to  die,  though  compa- 
ratively young — she  was  only  a  few  years  above  thirty 
— she  met  the  last  enemy  with  perfect  composure. 
She  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  die.  Her  understanding 
was  strengthened  with  '  the  sincere  milk  of  the 
word' — her  heart  was  God's — her  husband  and  her 
children  were  his  too,  by  her  own  cheerful  deed  of 
surrender;  and  her  hope  had  fixed  the  anchor  idthin 
the  veil.  She,  therefore,  knew  no  fear— yea,  rather, 
as  it  appears,  she  was  made  the  recipient  of  per- 
fect peace,  and  died  '  more  than  a  conqueror,  through 
Him  that  loved  her,'  and  '  whom,  having  not  seen,  she 
loved.' 

And  who  were  these  whom  she  so  distinctly  recog- 
nised as  her  soul  was  departing  ?  She  told  her  father 
that  she  saw  angels;  and  angels  they  surely  were. 
She  was  not  in  delirium ;  she  was  iiot  even  in  that 


6  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

half-dreamy  state  bordering  upon  it,  in  which  some 
expire.  Her  intellect  always  strong,  was  never  so 
clear  and  collected  as  at  that  moment ;  and  her 
natural  feelings,  which  she  had  power  to  control  and 
regulate  beyond  most  mothers,  in  such  affecting  cir- 
cumstances, were  never  more  at  her  command.  The 
mere  sentimentalism  in  religion  was  her  abhorrence ; 
andif  there  was  anything  else  which  she  more  strictly 
guarded  herself  against,  it  was  religious  ostentation  or 
display.  The  proper  inference  is,  that  even  before 
the  last  breath  is  drawn,  celestial  visions  may  be  some- 
times granted  to  dying  saints.  On  no  other  principle 
can  the  enraptured-  looks,  triumphant  language,  and 
direct,  intelligent  addresses,  with  wdiich  some  emi- 
nently godly  persons  have  left  this  world,  be  interpreted. 
The  sublime  antecedents  of  christian  martyrdom  afford 
numerous  illustrations  of  this.  Such  a  privilege  was 
granted  to  the  leader  in  that  noble  cloud  of  witnesses. 
Immediately  before  Stephen  '  fell  asleep,'  it  is  said 
in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  '  He,  being  full  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  looked  up  steadfastly  into  heaven,  and 
saw  the  glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  standing  on  the  right 
hand  of  God,  and  said.  Behold,  I  see  the  heavens 
opened,  and  the  Son  of  man  standing  on  the  right 
hand  of  God  ! '  What  one  saint  could  see  in  his  ex- 
piring scene,  others  may  be  permitted  to  behold  ;  and 
there  is  much  probability  in  the  idea,  that  though,  in 
general,  silence  be  imposed  on  the  lips  of  dying  be- 
lievers, their  souls  are  sustained  in  the  solemn  hour  by 


ANCESTllAL  PIETY.  7 

*  bread  from  heaven,'  of  which  weeping  survivors  have 
no  conception,  not  even  the  suspicion. 

The  graphic  account  recently  given  to  the  world  of 
the  death-bed  of  Dr  Gordon,  of  Kingston-upon-Hull, 
may  with  much  propriety  be  referred  to  as  an  affect- 
ing illustration.  Just  as  he  was  expiring,  Mr  Hall, 
his  accomplished  biographer,  relates :  '  He  appeared 
no  longer  conscious  of  what  took  place  around  him. 

He  gazed  upwards,  as  in  a  rapt  vision 

As  we  watched  in  silent  wonder  and  praise,  his 
features,  which  had  become  motionless,  suddenly 
yielded,  for  a  few  seconds,  to  a  smile  of  ecstacy  which 
no  pencil  could  ever  depict,  and  which  none  who  wit- 
nessed it  can  ever  forget.  And  when  it  passed  away, 
still  the  whole  countenance  continued  to  beam  and 
brighten,  as  if  reflecting  the  glory  on  which  the 
soul  was  gazing.  .  .  .  We  saw  as  much  as 
raortiil  eye  could  see  of  the  entrance  of  a  soul  into 
glory.  Nothing  more  could  have  been  given  us  but 
the  actual  vision  of  the  separate  spirit  and  its  angelic 
convoy.  This  glorious  spectacle  lasted  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  increasing  in  interest  to  the  last, 
during  which  the  soul  seemed  pouring  itself  from 
the  frail  tenement  which  had  imprisoned  it  into  the 
embrace  of  its  Lord.  The  breathing  now  became 
shorter  and  shorter ;  then,  after  a  long  pause,  one  last 
gentle  heaving  of  the  chest,  and  without  a  struggle, 
at  two  o'clock  the  soul  had  fled.'  * 

*   The    Christian    Philosopher   Triumphing   over    Death,    etc.      By 
Newman  Hall,  B. A.     London:  J.  Snow.     1850. 


8  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Such  like  was  a  scene  that  was  witnessed  early  on 
a  beautiful  summer  morning,  in  June,  1844.  The 
sufferer  was  a  most  beautiful  child,  of  six  years  of  age.* 
She  had  given  unequivocal  evidence  of  sanctifica- 
tion  even  from  the  womb.  She  knew  and  loved  the 
Saviour — she  had  heard  of  heaven — and  nothing  gave 
her  so  much  delight  as  when,  at  her  own  repeated 
request,  the  Bible  descriptions  of  that  glorious  abode 
were  read  to  her.  She  knew  she  was  dying,  and  had 
no  fears,  nay,  no  reluctance  to  leave  this  world — she 
rather  longed  to  '  depart,  and  be  with  Christ,  which 
is  far  better.'  Her  strength  of  mind  and  her  exercise 
of  faith  were,  considering  her  age,  wonderful;  and  the 
sweetness  and  gentleness  of  her  disposition  were 
at  the  same  time  most  melting.  On  the  Sabbath 
evening,  a  few  hours  before  she  died,  her  relatives 
stood  around  the  sofa  where  she  lay,  thinking  the  last 
struggle  had  come — she  herself  thought  so — and  hav- 
ing noticed  their  grief,  she  threw  out  her  little  hands 
to  them  all,  and  said,  with  perfect  but  solemn  com- 
posure of  manner,  'Good  bye!'  and  then  she  shut 
her  eyes,  and  turned  her  head  away.  A  few  hours 
after  this,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they 
again  surrounded  her  couch.  The  sun  had  just  risen, 
and  was  gilding  with  his  beams  the  tops  of  the  lofty 
mountains  of  Argyllshire,  and  the  surface  of  the 
waters  on  the  picturesque  bay  of  Rothesay ;  the  mild 
and  subdued  light  of  morn  was  fi*om  these  reflected 
*  Jessie  Burns  Macfarlane,  daughter  of  the  Author. 


ANCESTRAL  PJETY.  9 

upon  the  countenance  of  the  dying  gid.  But  only 
for  a  brief  period.  Tliat  natural  refulgence  faded 
away,  and  in  its  place  came  such  an  expression  of 
countenance  as  could  only  exist  in  connection  with 
some  celestial  objects  which  had  then  become  visible  to 
her.  She  uttered  no  words ;  but  for  a  while,  whether 
she  was  '  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body,'  they  could  not 
tell.  And  thus  this  lovely  child  of  heaven  went  home. 
Recently  conversing  with  an  excellent  clergyman 
of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  whose  parish  lies  on 
the  shores  of  one  of  those  romantic  Highland  lochs 
for  which  the  Scottish  west  coast  is  remarkable,  he 
told  the  wiiter  that  some  time  ago  an  interesting 
daughter  of  his  had  closed  her  life  in  a  most  remark- 
able manner.  Though  delicate,  she  was  not  under- 
stood to  be  dying,  and  being  only  about  twelve  years 
of  age,  it  was  hoped  that  debility  would  give  way  to 
strength,  and  that  early  promises  of  good  would  be 
fulfilled  in  the  maturity  of  age.  One  afternoon  she 
suddenly  awoke,  as  was  thought,  from  a  refreshing 
sleep — surprise  was  pictured  on  every  feature  of  her 
sweet  countenance,  and  she  gazed  around  as  if  she  had 
unexpectedly  found  herself  in  a  new  world.  ^Mother,' 
she  exclaimed,  'do  you  see  no  change  on  my  face?  Is 
there  nothing  peculiar  about  my  looks?'  'No,'  replied 
the  astonished  parent:  'Why  do  you  ask?'  'Because,' 
said  the  child,  '  I  have  just  been  in  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  places  I  ever  beheld,  and  have  seen  some  of 

the  most  glorious  and  beautiful  beings ! — O,  I  cannot 

a2 


10  THE  NIGHT  LAMP.  ' 

describe  where  I  have  been,  and  what  I  have  looked 
upon !  Tell  me,  mother,  is  there  no  change  on  my 
face  ?  Surely  there  must  be.'  Being  told  that  there 
was  none,  she  became  calm  and  silent  for  a  time,  and 
then  she  burst  forth  with  an  exclamation  :  '  There — 
there  it  is  again — I  see  it  again,  dear  mother — I  see 
these  beautiful  beings  again — they  are  coming !' — and 
so  she  died. 

It  does  violence  to  some  of  the  finest  feelings 
and  most  sacred  sentiments  of  the  clu'istian  heart, 
to  interpret  these  mysteries  as  the  results  of  mor- 
bid functions,  either  in  the  body  or  in  the  mind. 
There  is,  indeed,  such  an  excrescence  as  rhapsody 
in  religion ;  and,  after  a  season  of  prolonged  afflic- 
tion, where  there  is  an  extremely  sensitive  and 
nervous  constitution,  with  a  small  breadth  of  under- 
standing, and  that  understanding  but  partially  im- 
pregnated with  vital  truth,  it  is  very  apt  to  appear. 
But  this  is  an  imbecility  which  cannot  be  charged 
against  such  cases  as  the  above.  These  belong  to  a 
class  of  death-bed  experiences  which  may  not  be  a 
very  large  one,  but  which  has,  so  far  as  the  writer's 
observation  goes,  not  yet  obtained  that  serious  notice 
to  which  it  is  undoubtedly  entitled  from  the  fearers 
of  God,  when  chronicling  the  happy  and  peaceful 
end  of  matured  and  triumphing  faith.  They  cer- 
tainly occur  every  now  and  then,  but  are  studiously 
hid  from  public  observation,  lest  their  disclosure  should 
be  set  down  to  the  ebullitions  of  surcharged  grief,  or 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  11 

the  weak  partialities  of  bereaved  affection.  IIow 
strange  that  about  the  truly  pious  there  should  be 
such  a  backwardness  to  promulgate  these  startling 
facts,  and  to  submit  to  holy  analysis  these  singular 
phenomena !  IMen  of  science  and  enthusiastic  philo- 
sophers are  not  so  shy  nor  so  slow  to  proclaim  the 
appearance  of  any  remarkable  data  in  the  objects 
of  their  study.  They  do  not  fear  the  world's  disdain, 
and,  with  all  sound  thinking  persons,  they  get  the 
credit  of  being  earnest  investigators  of  truth.  Nov,-, 
the  christian  philosophy  may  expose  itself  to  the 
sneers  of  the  world ;  but  it  ought  to  be  as  far  above 
the  fear  of  these,  as  it  is  independent  of  its  deceitful 
compliments  and  polluting  touches.  It  is,  however, 
perhaps  to  the  unnatural  suspicions  and  detractions 
of  the  over-cautious  within  the  professional  pale  of 
the  church,  that  we  are  to  trace  this  aversion  to 
publish  and  defend  these  supernatural  spectacles,  as 
being  something  truly  and  literally  among  the  privi- 
leges of  superior  saintship.  How  applicable  to  this, 
as  it  is  to  many  hundred  things,  is  the  saying  of  our 
Lord :  '  The  children  of  this  world  are  in  their 
generation  wiser  than  the  children  of  light ! '  There 
are  comparatively  cold  and  stoical  natures  even  among 
the  regenerated  and  theological,  upon  which  the  nar- 
ratives of  lofty  faith  and  seraphic  emotions  which  dis- 
tinguished the  death-bed  work  of  such  men  as  Payson 
and  the  Janeways  fall,  only  to  produce  a  self-com- 
placent judgment   unfavourable    to    the    intellectual 


12  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

vigour  of  these  admirable  men.  It  is  said  of  them 
that  they  have  been  great  but  susceptible  and  weak- 
minded  persons,  and  that,  in  the  midst  of  their  swell- 
ing imaginations,  their  reason  has  been  the  dupe  of  a 
momentary  fanaticism.  Tiiis  is  an  earthly  and  sinful 
mode  of  accounting  for  the  impressive  peculiarities  of 
unusual  heavenly-mindedness  and  its  celestial  accom- 
paniments. Such  uncharitableness  among  religious 
people  has  been  very  baneful  to  the  interests  and  ad- 
vancement of  true  piety.  Certainly  great  caution 
ought  to  be  exercised  in  the  opinions  formed  of  death- 
bed phenomena ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  the  fear  of 
canonising  the  fanatic  should  not  cause  us  to  do  de- 
spite to  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God,  and  to  call  that  com- 
mon and  unclean  which  he  hath  wrought  and  sancti- 
fied. The  standard  of  a  christian's  dying  duty  has 
been  lowered,  from  this  over-timidity  about  admitting 
the  genuineness  of  that  august  and  glorious  fellowship 
which  some  have  claimed  before  death  with  the  in- 
visible spii'its  of  another  world.  Great  things  are 
promised  to  great  faith,  and  we  ought  to  expect  them — 
suflPering  disappointment  if  they  should  not  appear,  and 
filled  with  joy  and  gi'atitude  if  they  should.  '  Jesus 
answered  and  said  to  Nathanael,  Because  1  said  unto 
thee,  I  saw  thee  under  the  fig-tree,  believest  thou? 
thou  shalt  see  greater  things  than  these.  And  he  saith 
unto  him,  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  Hereafter  ye 
shall  see  heaven  open,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending 
and  descending  upon  the  Son  of  Man.'     Special  and 


ANCESTRAL  PIETV.  13 

eminent  blessings  are  declared  to  be  in  readiness  for 
the  children  of  God  when  they  are  called  to  the 
last  conflict.  And  why  should  we  doubt  their  beini; 
conferred  'just  in  the  last  distressing  hour^  Is  it 
not  written,  '  And  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at  even- 
ing time  it  shall  be  light ;'  '  I  will  be  thy  God  and 
thy  Gitide  even  unto  death  ;'  and  'when  thou  passest 
through  the  waters  I  will  be  with  thee,  and  through 
the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee :  when  thou 
walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shalt  not  be  burned, 
neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee?'  Such 
scriptures  as  these  not  only  justify  vis  in  expecting, 
but  entitle  us  to  prepare  for  wonderful  scenes  and 
sayings  in  the  chamber  where  the  good  man  encoun- 
ters the  king  of  terrors. 

There  is  another  world.  We  have  there  two  classes 
of  celestial  and  devoted  friends — the  one  is  divine,  the 
other  created.  From  the  former  the  children  of  light 
derive  all  their  spiritual  nourishment  and  growth  in 
grace.  The  Father  takes  them  under  the  shadow  of 
his  wings,  and  tenderly  cherishes  them  there.  The 
Son  adorns  them  in  the  robe  of  his  righteousness,  and 
teaches  them  confidence  and  hope.  The  Holy  Ghost 
takes  up  his  abode  in  their  hearts,  and  sanctifies  them 
wholly  in  soul,  body,  and  spirit.  Having  from  the 
moment  of  their  second  and  new  birth,  up  to  this  the 
hour  of  their  departure,  accompanied  them  through 
all  their  pilgrimage,  and  blessed  them  with  every 
spiritual  blessing,  it  is  not  surprising  that  their  en- 


14  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

trance  into  the  kingdom  should  be  occasionally  pre- 
ceded by  such  divine  revelations  as  must  give  to  their 
last  hours  unearthly  grandeur — 

'  They  see  a  form  tliat  others  cannot  see, 
And  bear  a  voice  that  others  cannot  hear.' 

Then,  from  the  other  class,  angels  and  the  spirits 
of  the  just  made  perfect,  we  may  calculate  upon 
not  only  personal  attendance,  but  cheering  and  sub- 
stantial support.  The  angels  are  the  ministering 
spirits  of  the  heirs  of  salvation  :  they  serve  these  heirs 
during  the  entire  period  of  their  minority,  and  never 
leave  them  nor  forsake  them.  Each  saint  has  at 
least  one  guardian  angel ;  and  when  he  is  about 
to  pass  through  the  swellings  of  Jordan,  a  num- 
ber of  these  benevolent  beings  may  be  gratified 
by  conveying  the  disciple  of  the  cross  to  the  other 
side,  and  joining  in  the  hallelujahs  wherewith  the 
august  coronation  is  celebrated.  The  highest  honour 
God  can  put  upon  the  angels,  is  to  permit  them 
thus  to  comfort  and  protect  his  saints  in  the  most 
solemn  and  critical  period  of  their  existence.  Placed 
as  we  know  every  one  of  them  to  be,  under  our  divine 
Redeemer's  authority,  and  especially  to  be  employed 
by  him  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  work  of  mercy 
to  mankind,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  the  possibility 
of  their  ever  being  put  into  such  service,  if  not  at  the 
periods  and  in  the  circumstances  referred  to.  Besides, 
the  honours  which  were  paid  to  the  Head  when  he 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  15 

was  upon  the  earth,  and  more  especially  when  he  arose 
from  it  and  ascended  to  lieaven,  are  to  be  shared  with 
him  by  his  members.  Even  upon  the  same  throne  at 
last  are  they  together  to  sit  and  reign  for  ever  and 
ever.  Pope  has  beautifully  embodied  this  idea  in 
these  well-known  lines  :  — ■ 

'  Hark  !  they  whisper, — angels  say, 

"  Sister  spirit,  come  away." 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 
Steals  ray  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath  ; 
Tell  me,  ray  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

'  The  world  recedes—  it  disappears  I 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes ;  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring. 
Lend,  lend  tour  wings  I  I  mount  !  I  fly  ! 
'   0  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

0  death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ?  ' 

Believers  are  at  death  made  perfect  in  holiness,  and 
fully  '  meet  to  be  partakers  of  the  inheritance  of  the 
saints  in  light.'  There  is  nothing,  however,  in  this 
most  consolatory  doctrine  that  is  inconsistent  with 
supernatural  privileges.  On  the  contrary,  seeing  that 
their  sanctification  has  been  progressing  from  the  day 
of  their  effectual  calling,  and  that  they  are  now  on 
the  very  threshold  of  celestial  perfection,  it  is  probable 
that  the  holy  agencies  of  their  Redeemer  may  be 
employed,  and  in  a  way  which  could  not  with  pro- 
priety be  employed  till  now,  for  the  purpose  of  accom- 


16  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

plisliing  their  assimilation  to  the  image  of  God,  and 
thus  rendering  them  fit  to  dwell  before  his  unveiled 
presence.  In  no  other  authenticated  case  than  that 
of  the  apostle  Paul  have  the  raptures  of  the  third  hea- 
vens been  enjoyed,  and  the  subject  of  them  permitted 
to  remain  longer  among  men.  When  these  have  been, 
on  a  similar  scale,  permitted  to  others,  their  translation 
almost  immediately,  or  at  no  great  distance  of  time, 
followed.  It  seems  to  be  but  little  of  what  they  see  and 
hear  that  they  are  able  or  are  allowed  to  tell.  The  rule 
with  regard  to  such  mysteries  is,  that  '  it  is  not  lawful 
to  man  to  utter  them.'  Hence  Lazarus,  who  was  raised 
from  the  dead,  and  Paul,  who  was  caught  up  to  the 
third  heavens,  never  broke  the  seal  of  silence  that  was 
imposed  on  their  lips ;  and  others  who  liave  enjoyed 
similar  visions  on  somewhat  smaller  scales,  have  been 
equally  mute.  So  soon  as  these  had  passed  before 
their  mind's  eye,  and  they  had  indicated  the  disposi- 
tion to  exclaim  concerning  them,  they  were  taken 
away  to  that  place  where  alone  it  is  lawful  to  make 
them  the  subject  of  communication  !  These  foresights 
and  foretastes  having  served  their  purjjose,  in  the 
strength  they  infused,  and  in  the  joys  they  imparted, 
and  the  last  impression  having  been  made  by  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  God  with  his  seal,  they  were  pronounced  to  be 
ready,  and  were  forthwith  proclaimed  to  be  glorified. 
Entertaining  such  views,  on  such  scriptural  grounds, 
we  are  prepared  to  expect  supernatural  scenes  at  the 
death-beds   of  eminently  pious   individuals.      What 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  17 

useful  pui'poses  to  them  these  angelic  friends  may 
serve,  immediately  after  death,  we  do  not  know,  but  it 
is  easy  to  conceive  of  their  ineffable  value  to  the  souls 
of  the  dying.  Opened,  as  we  believe  their  eyes  to  be, 
and  enlightened  as  their  souls  become,  when  approach- 
ing eternity,  we  cannot  realise  their  raptures,  whether 
expressed  or  not,  when  these  glorious  forerunners  of 
their  immortality  hover  about  and  around  their 
couches.  So  far  as  is  known  to  us,  such  '  angel 
visits  are  few  and  far  between.'  It  is  likely,  however, 
that  they  are  much  more  frequent  than  grieving  by- 
standers are  aware  of.  If  christians  had  more  intense 
love,  and  more  of  the  full  assurance  of  faith,  and  if 
death-bed  work  were  preceded  on  a  larger  scale  by  a 
great  deal  more  of  the  'prayers  and  fasting'  to  which 
our  Lord  has  annexed  most  illustrious  privileges,  then 
imposing  and  heavenly  spectacles,  bright  and  raptu- 
rous triumphs,  might  more  frequently  characterise  the 
last  exercise  of  saintship  in  the  Valley  of  Baca.  The 
more  perfectly  spiritual,  self-denied,  and  useful  to 
Christ  the  previous  life  has  been,  the  more  likely  are 
such  "scenes  to  be  repeated  and  abound.  Even  faith, 
small  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  can  remove  moun- 
tains, and  faithfulness  over  a  feio  things  may  receive 
a  great  recompense  of  reward.  To  great  faith,  then, 
and  to  faithfulness  over  many  things,  may  be,  and 
shall  be  granted,  what  '  eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear 
heard,'  and  this,  too,  even  while  the  conquering  hero 
is  still  on  the  field,  and    before   he   has   made   his 


18  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

entrance  into  glory.  What  a  powerful  encourage- 
ment is  this  to  a  life  of  holy  consecration  to  God — of 
cheerful  renunciation  of  the  world,  and  all  its  sinful 
honours  and  pleasures,  and  of  undeviating  and  perse- 
verincp  attachment  to  Him  who  lived  and  died  for  us 
— who  has  for  us  abolished  death — who  has  hallowed 
for  us  the  grave — for  us  prepared  yon  magnificent 
high  path  to  glory,  and  those  bright  and  beautiful 
crowns  which  are  never  to  fade  away ! 

Victims  of  imagination  !  creatures  of  a  visionary 
theology  !  dupes  of  an  amiable  imbecility  ! — these  are 
the  taunts  that  come  most  consistently  from  such  as 
sit  in  the  chair  of  the  scorner.  But  far  from  me  and 
from  my  friends  be  that  dwarfish  faith  which,  because 
it  labours  with  its  appropriate  shortsightedness  to  re- 
connoitre the  small  territory  that  lies  adjacent  to  its 
molehill,  pronounces  the  claims  of  others  to  larger  and 
more  sublime  comprehensions,  to  be  the  distorted  or 
discoloured  pictures  of  a  spiritual  opthalmia.  Truly 
we  may  say,  of  those  who  thus  opine,  that  '  there  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt  of 
in  their  philosophy.'  Christian  reader !  if  yod"  can 
realise  some  of  the  infinite  glory  that  exists  on  the 
other  side  of  the  thin  veil  that  separates  us  from  eter- 
nity, doubt  not  of  the  possibility  of  such  revelations  to 
expiring  believers.  Remember  wdiat  a  price  has  been 
paid  for  them — what  pity  and  long-suffering  have  been 
manifested  towards  them — what  intense  love  Jesus 
has  for  them — what  profound  interest  they  awaken 


ANCESTRAL  PIETY.  19 

in  celestial  bosoms  at  such  moments — and  with  what 
sinless  impatience  their  grand  escape  from  all  the  evils 
of  time  and  sin  may  be  regarded  by  benevolent  spirits, 
and  your  surprise  must  be,  not  that  any  of  them 
should  die  thus,  but  that  so  many  of  them  die  so  un- 
interestingly as  they  do.  Ponder,  moreover,  the  many 
scriptures  that  tell  of  the  pledged  presence  of  God 
himself,  when  they  come  to  die,  especially  such  pro- 
mises and  declarations  as  the  following : — '  Thine  eyes 
shall  see  the  King  in  his  beauty;  they  shall  behold  the 
land  that  is  afar  off ' — 'In  all  their  affliction  he  was 
afflicted,  and  the  angel  of  his  presence  saved  them' — 
'  The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  him, 
and  he  will  show  them  his  covenant' — '  The  angel 
of  the  Lord  encamps  round  about  them  that  fear 
him,  and  delivereth  them' — 'I  will  bring  the  blind 
by  a  way  that  they  knew  not ;  I  will  lead  them  in 
paths  that  they  have  not  known ;  I  will  make  dark- 
ness light  before  them,  and  crooked  things  straight' — 
'For  he  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee,  to 
keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways ;  they  shall  bear  thee  up  in 
their  hands,  lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone.' — 
Meditate  devoutly  on  these  and  kindred  passages,  and 
faith  in  the  doctrine  advanced  may  speedily  become 
strong,  and  fill  your  heart  with  joy  and  hope. 


CHAPTER   11. 


STijf  Pastor's  ©eat^. 

'  Year  chases  year,  decay  pursues  decay, 
Still  drojjs  some  joy  from  withering  life  away  ; 
New  forms  arise,  aod  different  views  engage, 
Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage, 
Till  pitying  nature  signs  the  last  release, 
And  bids  afflicted  worth  retire  to  peace.' 

Dr  Johnson. 

The  death  of  Agues'  mother  well  nigh  overwhelmed 
the  surviving  parent,  the  Rev.  James  Macfarlane, 
of  Queen  Anne  Street  Church,  Dunfermline.  He 
was  eminently  a  man  of  God;  but,  while  great  in 
the  integrity  and  uprightness  of  saintship,  he  was  of 
exceedingly  tender  and  affectionate  dispositions.  To 
the  hundreds,  it  may  almost  be  said  thousands  *  of 
hearers,  who  sat  under  his  ministry  from  Sabbath  to 
Sabbath,  he  had  often  been  the  instrument  of  'giving 
beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  and  the 
garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness ;'  but  now, 
when  the  heaviest  of  all  strokes  fell  upon  himself,  he 

*  His  capacious  church  could  seat  nearly  two  thousand  persons,  and 
it  was  generahy  crowded. 


THE  PASTOli'S  DEATH.  21 

was  for  a  season  like  one  stunned.     He  knew  tlie  ap- 
propriate consolations,  and  could  address  them  to  him- 
self; but,  alas  !  without  that  felt  relief  which  is  their 
designed  result.    At  the  same  time,  Mr  Macfarlane  Avas 
not  without  his  supports.     In  a  letter  written  on  the 
day  after  his  bei'eavement,  he  was  enabled  thus  to  ex- 
press himself  to  his  brother-in-law.  Captain  Husband, 
who  was  at  that  time  with  his  regiment  at  AVoolwich  : 
'O  that  you  had  been  present  at  the  affecting  scene!    I 
am  persuaded  you  would  have  learned  something  that 
would  have  done   good  to  your  precious  soul.     She 
loved  you  much,  as  I  believe  you  loved  her.     She  has 
left  me  another   dear  little  boy,    besides   those  with 
whom  you  are  already  acquainted.     O,  how  aflFecting 
to  think  of  being   bereaved    of  its    mother  so  soon  ! 
Shall  I  tell  you,  my  dear  John,  of  her  excellences  ? 
No:  you  know  many  of  them,  but  not  all — she  had 
qualities  of  which  none  knew  but  myself.     None  had 
access  to  witness  many  of  her  devotional  exercises  but 
me,  and  even  from  me  she  sometimes  wished  to  con- 
ceal them.     Eemember,  my  dear  John,  that  religion 
is  "  the  one  thing  needful."     Let  neither  arms,  nor 
politics,  nor  amusements,  nor  gay  society,  nor  any- 
thing else  make  you  overlook  it.     Had  you  witnessed 
the  death-bed  scene  of  your  beloved  sister — the  most 
affecting  I  ever  witnessed,  or  probably  ever  shall  wit- 
ness— you  would  have  seen  the  excellence  of  religion — 
you  would  have  seen  how  triumphantly  a  christian  can 
die.     We  have  every  reason  to  conclude  that  she  died 


22  TUE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

in  the  full  hope  of  a  happy  immortality  ;  and  this  could 
not  have  been  the  case  had  she  not  been  religious. 
What  a  treasure  I  have  lost — lost  for  ever,  as  to  this 
world !  But  I  know  that  she  and  I  shall  meet  again 
in  the  better  world,  never  more  to  part.  Let  us  ever 
then  keep  in  view  death  and  eternity.  Everything 
else  is  trifling.  When  we  come  to  a  death-bed,  how 
contemptible  will  this  world,  with  all  its  pleasures  and 
grandeurs,  appear  to  us !  Let  nothing,  then,  tempt 
you  to  neglect  religion.  I  am  sure,  were  your  loving 
sister  permitted  now  to  address  you,  she  would  press 
this  upon  you  with  an  earnestness  which  you  would 
be  incapable  of  resisting.  I  knew  her  sentiments 
respecting  you  well.  They  were  all  those  of  a  sister. 
I  could  say  much  more,  but  my  feelings  at  present 
forbid  me.  Ah  !  how  shall  I  do  without  her  ?  The 
Lord  knows.  The  funeral  is  to  be  on  Friday,  at  two 
o'clock.  It  would  have  been  extremely  desirable  to 
have  had  your  company,  but  this  is  impossible.  Think 
you  of  the  sad  procession  from  my  house  to  the 
church-yard,  and  sympathise  with  my  poor,  distressed, 
tortured  heart.     Farewell.' 

In  his  correspondence  with  some  of  his  clerical 
brethren,  at  the  time  of  Mrs  Macfarlane's  death,  her 
husband  unburdened  his  mind  in  all  the  confidence  of 
christian  friendship  ;  and  many  valuable  letters  of  con- 
solation he  received  in  return.  It  is  for  the  pur- 
pose of  introducing  a  few  of  these,  as  precious  gems 
of  consolation,    that   any    reference  has    been    made 


THE  pastor's  death.  23 

to  the  soiTOws  of  his  heart.  Some  of  these  admirable 
men  have  long  since  met  him  in  heaven,  and  two  yet 
remain  witii  ns,  and  burning  and  shining  lights  in  the 
church  of  Christ  all  will  admit  them  to  be.  The  first 
letter  is  from  the  Rev.  Dr  Lawson,  of  Selkirk,  the 
professor  of  divinity  for  many  years  to  the  Secession 
Church  of  Scotland,  and  one  of  the  most  learned  men 
of  his  times,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  prudent,  most 
sagacious,  and  most  meek  :  — 

'Selkirk,  \8(k  May,  1816. 

'My  Dear  Friend, — What  shall  I  say,  to  ease 
your  afflicted  mind  ?  All  3^our  friends  sympathise  most 
tenderly  with  you — the  best  of  all  friends  is  afflicted  in 
your  afflictions,  although  I  am  afraid  He  is  not  pleased 
with  the  overflowings  of  your  grief.  Yon  have  not 
been  able  to  observe,  so  well  as  you  wish,  the  gracious 
precept  enforced  by  the  gracious  doctrine  which  you 
find  in  1  Thess.  iv.  14-18,  and  John  xiv.  15,  16. 

'  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  think  you  could  sup- 
port the  sight  and  converse  of  one  so  deservedly  dear 
to  you.*  But  think  again.  Would  she  not  inter- 
mingle her  words  of  tenderness  with  reproofs  too 
wounding  to  your  spirit  ?     Might  she  not  speak  to  this 

*  To  understand  part  of  this  letter,  it  is  proper  to  state  that  Mr  Mac- 
fiirlaue  had  previously  hinted  to  Dr  Lawson  his  belief  in  the  possibility 
of  his  partner's  spirit  being  permitted  still  to  take  an  interest  in  him  ; 
and  that  if  she  were  to  address  him  even  for  a  few  minutes,  and  give 
him  some  information  about  the  eternal  world,  it  would  not  at  all 
affright  but  rather  console  him.  under  the  trials  of  time. 


24  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

effect :  "  Why  do  you  weep  so  sore  for  an  event  that 
crowns  my  happiness  ?  Have  you  not  often  told  me, 
that  you  loved  me  as  you  love  yourself?  and  yet  you 
cannot  but  know,  that  my  gain  ten  thousand  times 
exceeds  your  loss.  I  loved  you  dearly,  but  I  loved 
Christ  better ;  and  do  you  mourn  like  one  that  can 
find  no  comfort,  because  I  am  now  with  him  in  Para- 
dise ?  The  chief  attraction  of  my  love  to  you  was 
your  love  to  my  Lord.  But  are  you  not  now  showing 
that  you  bestowed  too  large  a  portion  of  your  love 
upon  your  wife,  and  need  to  be  put  in  mind,  by 
divine  Providence,  of  the  necessity  of  guarding  your 
heart  against  the  common  evil  of  giving  too  large  a 
proportion  of  your  affections  to  a  creature  of  the  dust? 
I  have  lost  my  life  in  bringing  one  of  your  children 
into  the  world.  But  does  not  the  gain  immensely 
exceed  the  loss  ?  My  prayers  for  the  child,  when  on 
earth,  were  not  lost.  It  is  a  great  addition  to  my 
happiness  in  being  with  Christ — to  have  the  hope  that 
the  dear  creatures,  whom  I  was  the  means  of  brinn-ing 
into  existence,  are  one  day  to  be  with  me,  to  behold 
the  beauty  of  my  Saviour  and  theirs.  Even  that 
stroke  which  separated  me  from  them  will  contribute 
to  the  happy  event.  They  will  not  bear  the  thought 
of  being  for  ever  separated  from  their  beloved  mother. 
They  will  love  that  Saviour  who  so  graciously  received 
her  to  be  with  himself  in  Paradise.  I  doubt  not  that 
the  event  which  you  deplore  so  bitterly  will  bring 
advantages  to  yourself  far  overbalancing  the  pain.     It 


THE  pastor's  death.  25 

will  excite  your  ardour,  iu  running  the  race  set  before 
you.  It  is  one  of  the  events  that  work  together  for 
promoting  your  progress  towards  that  better  country 
where  I  now  dwell,  and  from  which  you  would  not 
be  so  unkind  as  to  bring  me  back,  were  it  in  your 
power." 

'  There  were  many  years  between  the  time  when 
Joseph  was  lost  to  his  father,  and  the  time  when  he 
again  set  his  eyes  on  him.  Yet  the  meeting  was  a 
good  recompense  for  his  years  of  sorrow.  How  much 
richer  will  be  the  recompense  of  your  griefs,  when 
you  again  meet  with  your  beloved  partner,  to  dwell 
with  her  not  a  few  years,  but  for  ever !  Perhaps  the 
distressing  thought  may  suggest  itself  to  you,  What 
if  I  should  never  be  admitted  to  the  pleasant  land  into 
which  nothing  that  defiles  can  enter !  But  the  same 
grace  that  was  sufficient  for  our  departed  friends  is 
sufficient  for  us.  They  could  not  have  obtained  an 
entrance  into  heaven,  if  they  had  not  been  washed 
from  their  impurities  in  that  fountain  which  stands 
open  for  us  also. 

'  You  will  not  think  that  the  loss  of  your  earthly 
treasure  gives  you  any  reason  to  call  in  question  the 
loving-kindness  of  our  Redeemer.  We  have  reason 
to  think  that  he  did  not  preserve  his  own  mother  fi'om 
the  affliction  of  widowhood ;  yet  she  never  said,  "  He 
saves  others  from  such  cruel  affliction — why  was  he 
so  unkind  to  me  ?  " 

'  One  of  the  best  ways   of  preserving  our  minds 


26  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

from  being  harassed  by  unquiet  thoughts,  is  to  employ 
them  on  useful  subjects.  These  the  scriptures  will 
supply  to  you  in  great  plenty.  The  christian  will  not 
perish  in  the  day  of  his  affliction,  for  the  law^  of  God 
is  his  delight.  I  I'eckon  it  a  pleasure  and  advantage 
frequently  to  commit  small  portions  of  scripture,  in 
the  original,  to  my  memory.  Blessed  will  we  be, 
amidst  all  that  we  suffer  in  this  world,  if  we  can 
meditate  day  and  night  in  the  law  of  the  Lord. 

'■  I  feel  much  for  my  dear  friend,  Mr  Husband  ;  but 
I  know  that  he  will  seek  his  consolation  from  the 
source  where  it  will  most  easily  be  found.  When  he 
compares  the  dealings  of  God  towards  his  own  family 
with  his  dealings  towards  those  of  some  of  his  bre- 
tlu'en,  he  may  be  tempted  to  think  with  you,  that  he 
is  the  man  who  hath  seen  affliction.  But  it  will  soon 
occur  to  him,  that  others  have  had  as  much  reason  to 
mourn  as  he,  and  that  none  of  us  have  such  heavy 
burdens  to  bear  of  the  kind  as  Jacob  and  David.  My 
best  compliments  to  him  and  to  all  your  friends. 
May  God  enable  them  to  bear  their  share  in  the 
affliction  as  christians  ought  to  do !  Those  things  are . 
best  for  us  that  will  be  found  best  in  another  world. 

'  You  will  probably  put  your  children  that  are  read- 
ing in  mind  of  some  passages  of  scripture  that  are 
likely,  in  present  circumstances,  to  make  a  happy 
impression  upon  them — as  Psalm  xxvii.  10;  2  Tim. 
i.  5  ;  Proverbs  iv.  3-9.  I  believe  the  instructions 
that  our  departed  sister  gave,  and  would  have  given 


THE  pastor's  death.  27 

to  her  children,  were  such  in  effect  as  Solomon  re- 
ceived from  his  mother  and  his  father. 

'  May  God  spare  them  to  you,  and  grant  them  all 
grace  to  walk  in  the  steps  of  their  mother  and  grand- 
mother, that  they  may  not  he  for  ever  separated  from 
them  !  And  may  you  for  ever  enjoy  those  consola- 
tions which  the  lapse  of  time  cannot  take  away ! — I 
am,  ever  your  aflFectionate  friend, 

'  Geo.  Lawson.' 

The  next  letter  is  from  the  late  Rev.  Dr  Dick,  of 
Glasgow,  the  most  accomplished  theologian  of  his 
age,  and  DrLawson's  successor  in  the  chair  of  divinity. 
It  is  addressed  to  Dr  Husband,  and  has  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  its  eminent  author : — 

'  Glasgow,  May  21,  181G. 
*My  Dear  Sir, — I  received  your  letter  before 
I  left  Edinburgh,  containing  the  intelligence  of  Mrs 
Macfarlane's  death ;  and  I  sincerely  sympathise  with 
you  all  on  this  melancholy  occasion.  For  a  little 
time,  as  the  accounts  were  more  favourable,  we  flat- 
tered ourselv^es  with  the  hope  that  she  might  recover. 
But  God  had  otherwise  determined.  Your  feelings 
at  the  loss  of  a  daughter  I  know  by  experience  ;  and 
I  can  conceive  the  pain  which  Mr  Macfarlane  must 
suffer,  by  being  bereaved  of  one  with  whom  he  had 
connected  himself  for  life,  and  whose  common  senti- 
ments and  interests,  and  the  strong  ties  of  affection, 


28  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

had  rendered  dear  to  him  as  himself.  To  him  this 
death  is  no  ordinary  trial,  left  as  he  is  with  a  young 
and  numerous  family,  without  a  mother  to  care  for 
them.  How  do  I  and  all  her  friends  pity  them !  and 
how  apt  are  we  to  wish  that  this  calamity  had  not 
befallen  him !  But  such  a  wish  is  vain,  and  when 
calmly  considered,  worse  than  vain.  It  is  not  to 
chance  that  we  must  impute  the  breach  which  has 
been  made  in  his  family  and  yours ;  it  is  not  the 
deed  of  a  man,  whom  we  might  condemn  for  the 
abuse  of  his  power,  or  of  a  demon,  whom  we  might 
execrate  for  his  malignity.  It  is  the  work  of  God, 
who  should  be  revered,  because  he  is  just  and  wise ; 
and  loved,  because  he  is  good,  even  when  he  corrects 
us  with  the  heaviest  strokes  of  his  rod.  Even  heathens 
have  delivered  the  doctrine  of  implicit  resignation  to 
the  will  of  Providence  in  admirable  strains  ;  but  it  is 
christian  philosophy  which  alone  can  teach  it  in  per- 
fection, and  impress  its  lessons  upon  the  heart,  leading 
the  suiferer  to  bless  God  for  his  losses  as  well  as  his 
gains,  in  the  full  confidence  that  the  former  will 
ultimately  prove  as  beneficial  as  the  latter.  When 
eternity  shall  pour  its  light  upon  the  dark  scenes  of 
time,  the  whole  series  of  events  will  appear  a  uniform 
dispensation  of  love  to  the  righteous ;  and  those  which 
were  most  suspected  will  be  found  to  be  the  most 
important,  and  the  happiest  in  their  consequences.  It 
were  well  if  we  could  now  believe  what  we  hope,  ere 
long,  to  see.     We  should,  then,  be  patient  and  even 


THE  pastor's  death.  29 

thankful   in  tribulation,  knowing  that  all  things  are 
working  together  for  onr  good. 

'With  the  topics  of  consolation  contained  in  the 
scriptures  your  are  well  acquainted.  1  rejoice  to  learn 
that  while  you  and  your  friends  must  severely  feel 
this  loss,  you  have  no  cause  to  sorrow  as  those  who 
have  no  hope.  Your  departed  daughter  is  in  peace  ; 
and  you  would  not  wish  her  to  return  to  a  world  of 
trouble  and  vanity.  She  lived  long  enough,  as  she 
was  ready  for  heaven.  The  difterence  of  a  few  years 
seems  much  to  us,  wlien  we  look  forward  through  the 
dreary  blank  caused  by  the  desolating  hand  of  adver- 
sity ;  but  it  will  appear  as  nothing,  when  the  time  is 
past,  and  we  join  our  friends  in  the  blissful  regions 
where  death  and  sorrow  are  unknown.  While  we 
bless  God  for  our  friends  who  remain  with  us,  we 
should  bless  him  for  those  also  who  have  finished 
their  course,  and  entered  into  rest. 

'  It  was  not  in  my  power  to  attend  the  funeral,  as  I 
was  under  the  necessity  of  returning  to  Glasgow.  I 
could  not  find  time  to  write  to  you  before  I  left 
Edinburgh.  Remember  me  to  Mr  Macfarlane,  and 
tell  him  that  I  wish  him  the  support  and  consolations 
of  religion  on  this  trying  occasion.  Mrs  Dick  joins 
me  in  expressions  of  sympathy,  and  begs  to  be  remem- 
bered to  yourself  and  also  to  Mrs  Husband,  to  whom 
be  so  good  as  to  present  my  compliments. — I  am,  my 
dear  Sir,  yours  truly, 

*  J.  Dick.' 


30  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

The  third  letter  is  from  the  pen  of  the  late  Rev. 
Dr  Henry  Belfrage,  of  Falkirk,  and  breathes  all 
the  sweetness  and  piety  of  that  voluminous  writer  and 
distinguished  christian  : — 

Talkikk,  J1/a^21,  1816. 

'  My  Dear  Sir, — I  received  Mr  Dewar's  letter  on 
Thursday ;  and  the  mournful  intelligence  of  the  death 
of  Mrs  Macfarlane  afflicted  us  all  very  much.  I  felt 
a  strong  ^vish  to  attend  the  funeral ;  but  as  I  had  to 
preach  at  Denny  on  Saturday,  and  to  assist  at  the 
dispensation  of  the  Lord's  Supper  there  on  Sabbath, 
it  was  not  in  my  power  to  be  with  you.  Since  I 
heard  of  the  melancholy  event,  you  have  been  often 
in  my  thoughts ;  and  it  has  been  and  is  my  earnest 
wish  that  you  may  receive  all  that  support  from 
Heaven  which  is  necessary  under  such  a  bereavement 
as  yours.  The  consolations  of  the  gospel  have,  I 
trust,  been  applied  to  your  heart  by  the  Holy  Spirit 
so  seasonably  and  effectually,  that  the  floods  of  great 
waters  swelling  to  the  brim  have  not  overwhelmed 
your  soul.  Sweet  is  that  confidence  in  the  care  and 
love  of  Christ  which  has  so  often,  in  the  house  of 
mourning,  repressed  the  dark  suggestions  of  fear  and 
sorrow.  The  task  that  now  devolves  on  you  is  indeed 
arduous;  but  the  God  whom  you  serve  will  make 
your  strength  equal  to  your  days,  and  will  spare  you 
for  forming  your  children  to  the  spirit  and  ^■irtues  of 
their  mother,  and  for  carrying  to  the  heart  of  sorrow 


THE  pastor's  death.  31 

the  consolations  which  have  supported  your  own. 
The  heart  feels  relieved  in  ministerino;  to  the  welfare 
of  those  whose  happiness  was  the  care  of  our  departed 
friends,  and  who  in  their  last  moments  placed  them  in 
our  hands.  Thus  we  fulfil  their  joy,  and  glorify  Him 
who  chastens  us  for  our  profit. 

'  It  was  with  much  interest  that  I  learned  from  Mr 
Dewar  what  good  hope,  through  grace,  supported 
your  amiable  partner  in  death;  and  this  must  be  to 
you  a  strong  consolation.  The  piety  which  in  her 
appeared  so  amiable,  from  the  gentleness  and  humility 
which  marked  every  ex^^ression  of  it,  yielded  her  in 
her  last  hour  a  joy  which  should  preserve  her  friends 
from  sorrowing  as  those  who  have  no  hope,  and  the 
memory  of  which  we  ought  all  to  cherish,  as  a  blessed 
evidence  of  the  power  of  religion. 

'  I  am  sensible  that  the  imperfect  manner  in  which 
I  have  offered  my  humble  condolence  requires  an 
apology,  but  I  hope  3'ou  will  receive  it  as  an  expression 
of  my  regard. 

'  !My  sisters  join  with  me  in  condolence  with 
]VIr  and  Mrs  Husband,  and  Mr  Dewar;  and  that 
you  and  your  friends  may  be  blessed  by  the  kindest 
expressions  of  the  Redeemer's  sympathj^,  is  my 
earnest  wish.  —  I  am,  my  dear  Sir,  yours  most 
sincerely, 

'  Henry  Belfrage.' 

The  two  remaining;  letters  are  from  the  Eev.  Dr 


32  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Wardlaw,  of  Glasgow,  and  the  Rev.  Dr  John 
Brown,  of  Edinburgh,  who  still  survive,  full  of  years, 
and  full  of  honours  :^ 

•Glasgow,  il/ay  19,  1816. 
'  Lord's-day  Evening. 

'My  Dear  Sir, — It  cannot  surely  be  an  inappro- 
priate part  of  the  exercises  of  a  Lord's-day  evening, 
to  soothe  the  spirit  of  an  afflicted  christian  friend  by 
assurances  of  sympathy  and  condolence.  O  my  dear 
brother,  when  I  try,  in  imagination,  to  make  your  case 
ray  own,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you.  I  cannot  speak  to 
you  from  experience ;  and  this  qualification  of  a  com- 
forter you  do  not  wish  me  to  possess.  But  I  know  the 
heart  both  of  a  husband  and  a  father : — I  know  that 
both  the  conjugal  and  the  paternal  affections  are  felt 
by  you  in  all  their  glowing  ardour ; — and  that  the  cup 
which  you  are  now  made  to  drink  is  one  of  the  bitter- 
est that  God  can  mingle  for  mortal  man.  Yet  even 
in  this  cup  there  is  sweetness.  All  the  inexpressibly 
tender  and  endearing  recollections  of  the  christian 
excellences  of  your  departed  wife ;  the  evidences  of 
her  interest  in  the  Saviour,  and  the  comfortable 
assurance  of  her  being  "  present  with  the  Lord," 
where  there  is  "fulness  of  joy,  and  pleasure  for  ever- 
more ;"  the  delightftd "  prospect  of  seeing  her  again, 
where  the  blessed  inhabitants  "  neither  marry  nor  are 
given  in  marriage,  but  are  as  the  angels  of  God  in 
heaven :" — the  conviction   founded   on  the   word  of 


THE  pastor's  death,  33 

your  lieavenly  Father,  that  the  cup  is  mixed  by 
wisdom  that  cannot  err,  faithfulness  that  cannot  fiiil, 
and  lov^e  that  cannot  change  : — these,  and  such  con- 
siderations, which  are  famihar  to  your  mind,  will  lead 
you  to  say,  with  your  gracious  Redeemer  and  Lord, 
"  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given  me  shall  I 
not  drink  it?"  Oh  !  how  pleasing  when  the  bonds  of 
the  gospel  are  superinduced  upon  the  ties  of  nature  ! 
When  Death  dissolves  the  latter,  he  has  no  power  to 
sever  the  former.  It  is  true,  that  this  double  union 
makes  the  pang  of  separation,  in  one  view,  the  more 
violent,  inasmuch  as  it  rendered  the  previous  inter- 
course the  more  endearing.  But  Avhile  this  thought 
makes  the  heart  bleed  the  more  profusely,  it  soothes 
and  saddens  while  it  grieves ;  it  binds  up,  and  softens 
and  heals  the  very  wound  which  it  inflicts.  We  need 
ties  to  a  better  world  more  than  to  this.  God  has 
dissolved  a  tie  to  earth,  and  made  it  a  tie  to  heaven. 
He  has  given  you  an  additional  interest  in  your 
heaveidy  Father's  house  ;  which  you  will  now  contem- 
plate as  the  place  of  your  beloved  partner's  rest  and 
joy.  For  although  the  chief  reason  of  our  attachment 
to  heaven  should  be,  that  there  "  Jesus  sitteth  at  the 
right  liand  of  God,"  that  there  "  we  shall  be  for  ever 
witii  the  hordC  yet  surely  we  neither  can  nor  ought 
to  feel  callous  to  the  interest  in  heaven  which  David 
expressed  when  he  said,  "  I  shall  go  to  him  ;" — and, 
if  we  be  duly  impressed  with  the  inconceivable  supe- 
riority of  heaven  to  earth,  in  glory  and  felicity,  what 

b2 


34  THE  NIGHT  LASIP. 

he  added  will  be  matter  of  comfort  to  us  too :  "  He 
shall  not  return  to  me"  How  can  we  find  in  our 
hearts  to  wish,  that  our  christian  friends  should 
"quit  those  blissful  realms,  and  royalties  above,"  to 
descend  again  to  the  frailties  and  infirmities,  the 
cares  and  anxieties,  the  vanities  and  sufferings, 
the  imperfect  and  mingled  joys,  of  this  "  valley  of 
tears  %  " 

'  My  dear  friend,  loe  can  do  no  more  than  thus  say 
to  one  another, — "  We  feel  for  you." — But  there  is 
another,  who  can  do  more ; — wdio  assures  us  of  his 
tender  sympathy, — and  while  he  is  "  touched  with 
the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,"  "  perfects  his  strength 
in  our  weakness."  To  Him,  and  to  that  grace  of  his 
which  is  sufiicient  for  you,  I  affectionately  commend 
you,  with  your  heavy  and  interesting  charge  : — in  all 
of  whom  may  God  give  you  all  the  joy  of  a  christian 
father  ! 

'  My  aged  and  worthy  Sire,  who  has  not  now  sight 
sufficient  to  express  the  feelings  of  his  heart  on  paper 
himself,  has  charged  me  to  assure  you  of  his  tenderest 
sympathy,  and  of  your  not  being  forgotten  in  his  in- 
tercessions at  the  throne  of  divine  grace  : — and  also  to 
express  his  heartfelt  condolence  with  Mr  Husband,  as 
he  has  had  experience  also  of  a  father's  sorrow.  In 
this  I  beg  to  be  most  cordially  joined. — Other  friends 
enter  into  these  feelings  of  condolence,  and  none  more 
warmly  than  the  beloved  partner  oi  my  pilgrimage, 
whose   interest  in  the    mournful  event   is  peculiarly 


THE  pastor's  DEATH.  35 

lively,  from  the  remembrance  of  former  intimacy  and 
youthful  friendship. 

'  Believe  me,  my  dear  Sir,  yours  very  affectionately, 

'  Ealph  Wardlaw.' 

'BiGGAR,  13^//  July,  1816. 
'  My  Dear  Sir, — I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude 
for  your  very  kind  epistle, — a  debt  which,  if  I  cannot 
repay,  I  shall  be  at  all  times  ready  to  acknowledge. 
I  have,  as  you  may  well  believe,  frequently  thought 
of  you  of  late  with  feelings  of  tender  sympathy,  and 
had  resolved,  previously  to  the  receipt  of  your  letter, 
to  send  you  the  little  book  which  accompanies  this,  as 
a  slight  testimony  of  my  fellow-feeling  with  you,  as 
"  my  brother  and  companion  in  tribulation."  There 
is  probably  no  sentiment  in  it  Avith  which  your  mind 
has  not  been  long  familiar,  and  scarcely  any  to  which 
it  has  not  been  lately  forcibly  directed.  But  I  diall 
have  my  reward  if  its  perusal  beguile  a  few  moments 
of  your  loneliness,  and  be  happy  indeed  if  it  in  any 
measure  conduce  to  the  alleviation  of  your  grief  and 
the  restoration  of  your  tranquillity.  The  affliction 
with  which  an  infinitely  wise  and  good  Providence 
has  been  pleased  to  visit  us,  is,  as  you  justly  remark, 
perhaps  the  severest  of  an  earthly  kind  with  which  we 
could  have  been  visited.  I  have  certainly  lost  one  of 
the  most  valuable  wives  with  whom  any  man  ever  was 
blessed ;  and  from  all  that  I  have  heard  of  Mrs  Mac- 
farlane,  I  have  no  reason  to  think  your  bereavement 


36  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

less  afflictive  than  my  own.  The  cup  that  has  been 
poured  out  to  us  is  indeed  a  bitter  one — "the  worm- 
wood and  the  gall."  But  let  us  not  forget  that  the 
hand  of  infinite  wisdom,  and,  I  hope,  also  of  infinite 
kindness,  mingled  the  draught ;  and  bitter  as  it  is,  it 
is  not  without  its  tempering  and  even  sweetening  in- 
gredients. He  who  put  it  into  our  hands  had  an 
indisputable,  and,  I  would  fain  add,  an  undisputed 
right  to  do  so ;  and  it  must  be  our  own  fault  if  it  does 
not  conduce  to  our  spiritual  improvement,  and  our 
final  salvation.  It  will  be  well  if  the  cutting  off  those 
channels  through  which,  for  a  series  of  years,  so  much 
of  the  divine  kindness  has  flowed  to  you  and  me,  and 
flowed  so  regularly  and  abundantly,  that  we  were  in 
great  danger  sometimes  of  mistaking  the  stream  for 
the  spring, — it  will  be  well  if  the  drying  them  up  lead 
us  more  directly  to  the  great  source  of  blessedness,  the 
Fountain  of  Good,  ever  full  and  ever  flowing. 

'  Like  you,  my  dear  Sir,  I  derive  abundant  consola- 
tion, from  my  firm  persuasion,  founded  not  on  a  few  ex- 
pressions in  the  view  of  death,  though  even  these  were 
very  satisfactory,  but  on  an  even  course  of  christian  con- 
duct— an  active  doing,  and  a  patient  sufiering,  of  the 
will  of  God, — that  the  event  so  painful  to  me  has  been 
infinitely  advantageous  to  my  dearest  earthly  friend ; 
and  it  is,  I  trust,  my  earnest  wish,  my  determined 
resolution,  and  my  humble  hope,  that,  following  her 
as  she  followed  Christ,  in  faith  and  humility,  patience 
and  charity,  I  will  go  to  her,  as  she  cannot  return  to 


THE  pastor's  death.  37 

me.  I  see  notliiiig  inconsistent  with  the  letter  of 
scripture,  and  I  see  much  consonant  with  its  spirit, 
as  well  as  with  the  soundest  deductions  of  reason,  and 
the  best  feelings  of  regenerated  humanity,  in  the  idea 
suggested  by  you  of  the  probable  interest  which  de- 
parted saints  have  in  the  happiness  of  those  whom 
they  have  left  behind  them.  I  am  apt  to  think  that, 
with  regard  to  the  locality  of  departed  spirits,  we  not 
only  necessarily  think  confusedly,  but  frequently'  think 
wrong.  We  are  not  improbably  in  the  midst  of  the 
invisible  state,  and  only  need  our  eyes  opened,  like  the 
prophet's  servant,  to  behold  its  realities.  We  have  no 
reason  to  think  that  dissolution  in  any  way  destroys  those 
modes  of  thinking  and  feeling  to  which  the  person  was 
habituated  during  life.  The  general  frame  of  thinking 
and  feeling  in  the  renewed  mind  receives  no  alteration, 
except  that  arising  from  prodigious  improvement,  pro- 
bably flowing  from  obtaining  freedom  at  once  from  all 
the  drawbacks  which  originate  in  our  material  constitu- 
tion in  its  present  state.  In  this  case,  it  is  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  every  worthy  attachment  will  continue, 
increased  probably  in  its  ardour,  as  well  as  refined 
from  all  its  imperfections,  and  freed  from  all  anxiety, 
in  consequence  of  more  enlarged  views  of  the  divine 
providential  procedure,  and  a  perfect  confidence  in 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God.  We  know  that  the 
spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect  are  leayyiXoi — like  to, 
equal  with,  angels ;  we  know  that  the  angels  are 
ministering  spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  to  them  who 


38  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

are  heirs  of  salvation.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that, 
from  the  greater  fitness  of  spirits,  who  have  themselves 
experienced  the  temptations  and  sorrows  of  life,  to 
suggest  consolation  and  direction  to  the  mind  of  a 
distressed  saint,  than  angels,  who,  however  benevolent, 
know  nothing  of  the  sympathy  learned  by  suffering, 
there  is  a  probability  of  their  being  thus  employed  in 
the  merciful  dispensation  of  an  infinitely  wise  govern- 
ment. And  sure,  my  dear  Sir,  your  dearest  Grace 
and  my  dearest  Jane  must  be  strangely  altered,  if,  in 
consistency  with  the  divine  will,  they  could  do  so, 
should  they  not  do  what  lies  in  their  power  to  alle- 
viate our  distresses  and  to  promote  our  comfort.  But 
whatever  there  may  be  in  this,  we  have  "  the  sure 
word  of  prophecy,"  that  if  we,  like  them,  live  and  die 
in  the  Lord,  we  will  in  a  few  short  years  meet  again, 
never,  never  to  part ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  we  are 
sure  that  their  Lord  and  ours  does  not  regard  our 
sufferings  with  indifference,  and  will  make  all  things 
work  together  for  our  good. 

'  I  have  great  reason  to  be  thankful,  that  the  Pro- 
vidence who  took  tlie  daughter  kindly  spared  the 
mother.  Mrs  Ninnno  is  a  great  comfort  to  me,  and 
an  unspeakable  advantage  to  my  poor  motherless 
children.  I  feel  exceedingly  for  you  in  this  point  of 
view.  But  I  know  that  God  can  supply  all  you  need, 
according  to  his  riches  in  glory,  through  Christ  Jesus ; 
and  I  pray  that  he  may  make  all  grace  abound 
towards  you.     Lfrs  Nimmo  unites  with  me  in  most 


THE  pastor's  death.  39 

affectionate  condolence.  Remember  me  kindly  and 
respectfully  to  Mr  Husband ;  and  believe  me  to  be, 
yours,  with  esteem  and  affection, 

'  John  Broavn. 

From  his  revered  colleague  in  the  ministry  and 
father-in-law,  the  Rev.  Dr  Husband,  he  at  this  season 
derived  unspeakable  comfort.  Dr  Husband  excelled 
as  a  comforter.  A  man  of  acute  and  lofty  intellect, 
and  of  highly  refined  feelings,  he  handled  with  much 
dexterity  those  precious  truths  of  the  Bible,  to  which, 
at  the  same  time,  he  had  given  the  full  assurance  of 
his  own  faith.  If  any  earthly  relationship  could  have 
made  up  for  the  loss  Mr  Macfarlane  had  sustained,  in 
the  society  and  sympathy  of  this  venerable  christian, 
that  loss  was  repaired.  None  was  more  sensible  of 
his  inestimable  worth,  in  this  and  in  many  other  re- 
spects, than  his  son-in-law.  During  the  long  term  of 
their  joint  pastorate,  about  thirty-six  years,  they  had 
never  had  one  unpleasant  or  jarring  scene  ;  and  when 
the  aged  senior  pastor  died,  on  the  17th  of  May, 
1821,  Mr  Macfarlane  found  that  his  ties  to  life  were 
broken.     He  thus  writes  to  Captain  Husband  : — 

'  Dunfermline,  bth  Feb.,  1822. 

'  My  Dear  John, — I  have  never  heard  from  you 

since  you  left  Dunfermline,  but  once,  which  was  after 

informing  you  of  the  heaviest  loss  I  ever  sustained  in 

this   world.     I  wrote  you  a  few  months  afterwards, 


40  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

when  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  add  to  my  former  loss, 
by  bereaving  me  of  my  dear  boy,  AValter;  but  you 
made  no  reply  to  my  letter,  at  least  I  received  none. 
This  I  felt  as  rather  unkind,  especially  when  expres- 
sions of  kindness  were  likely  to  be  valued.  It  can 
serve  no  end  to  tell  you  what  were  my  determinations 
under  this  disappointment.  The  very  kind  and  feel- 
ing manner  in  which  you  expressed  yourself  in  your 
last  letter  to  your  brother  James,  respecting  one 
whose  memory  is  and  ever  will  be  dear,  very  dear 
to  me,  has  determined  me  to  forget  grievances.  A 
recent  affliction — the  heaviest  I  have  ever  met  with 
(one  excepted)  in  the  course  of  my  pilgrimage  througli 
this  weary  wilderness — makes  me  think  lightly  of 
some  other  afflictions,  and  constrains  me  now  to  write 
you.  Your  father's  death  has  bereaved  us  of  one 
who  was  very  dear  to  us  all,  and  was  a  bond  of  union 
among  us.  His  departure  has  left  a  most  dismal 
blank  in  our  society — we  all  feel  it  and  lament  it. 
But  on  whom,  think  you,  is  it  likely  to  make  the  most 
lasting  impression  ?  I  mean  no  reflection  upon  any, 
when  I  say  that  I  apprehend  it  is  upon  myself.  He 
was  to  me  a  wise  counsellor,  a  prudent  reprover,  and 
a  kind  friend.  He  tenderly  loved  my  young  ones,  as 
surviving  parts  of  her  whom  he  highly  valued,  and 
had  good  reason  to  value,  for  she  almost  adored  him. 
Had  he  been  spared  for  a  few  years,  my  boys  and 
girl  would  have  felt  the  advantage  of  one  who  sincerely 
interested  himself  in  their  welfare.     Of  this  advantasre 


THE  pastor's  death.  41 

they  are  now  bereaved,  for  ever  bereaved  ;  and  I  must 
struggle  alone  to  bring  tliem  on  in  life.  James  and 
William  will,  I  hope,  soon  do  for  themselves.  The 
other  five  must,  for  a  considerable  number  of  years, 
have  their  dependence  on  me.  When  I  say  this,  I 
am  far  from  overlooking  the  dependence  which  we  all 
have  on  God.  It  will  be  good  for  us  if  the  bereave- 
ments we  meet  with  in  life  lead  us  to  a  more  entire 
dependence  on  Him  in  whom  we  live,  and  move,  and 
have  our  being.  I  am  now  well  advanced  in  life,  and 
may  lay  my  account  with  soon  taking  my  leave  of  it. 
Were  it  not  for  the  sake  of  my  young  ones,  I  have 
very  little  to  attach  me  to  life.  My  old  and  best 
friends  are  dropping  away,  one  after  another.  I  find 
myself  almost  left  alone.  May  God  teach  me  so  to 
number  my  days,  that  I  may  apply  my  heart  unto 
wisdom  !  It  is  a  vastly  serious  matter  to  die  !  It 
decides  our  fate  for  eternity.  Our.  lot  beyond  it  must 
be  happiness  or  misery,  unalterable  and  unending.' 

The  death  of  Dr  Husband  made  a  deep  and  lasting 
impression  on  his  surviving  colleague,  now  advanced 
in  years,  and  bending  down  under  trials  and  infirmi- 
ti^.  Shortly  afterwards  Mr  Macfarlane  published  a 
memoir  of  Dr  Husband,  in  which  he  pays  the  follow- 
ing high  and  just  tribute  to  his  character  : — 

'  As  a  preacher,  Dr  Husband  possessed  a  sound 
understanding,  and  a  quick  and  lively  apprehension  of 


42  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

mind.  His  discourses  were  always  solid  and  judicious, 
the  result  of  mature  thought  and  great  diligence.  The 
language  in  which  he  expressed  them  was  particularly 
neat  and  accurate.  He  never  offered  to  God  that 
which  cost  him  nothing,  or  satisfied  himself  with 
sudden  and  loose  compositions.  His  discourses,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  were  fully  written  out.  His 
manner  in  the  pulpit  was  not  showy,  but  serious  and 
interesting,  engaging  the  attention,  and  affecting  the 
hearts  of  his  audience.  His  methods  were  simple,  and 
generally  textual.  All  pomp  and  ostentation  in  the 
pulpit  he  mortally  hated,  and  carefully  exemplified  in 
his  own  manner  the  very  opposite.  At  times  he  would 
indulge  in  unfolding  the  terrors  of  Sinai,  but  his 
favourite  theme  was  the  gospel  of  Christ ;  and  he  had 
a  peculiar  dexterity  in  showing  the  connection  between 
the  law  and  the  gospel,  and  the  influence  which  the 
one  had  upon  the  -other.  His  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  his  singular  discrimination  of  human 
character,  enabled  him  to  make  his  instructions  bear 
with  peculiar  aptitude  upon  the  prevailing  dispositions 
of  his  hearers,  whether  in  the  way  of  reproof  and 
correction,  or  of  encouragement  and  consolation.  He 
never  affected  a  vain  ostentation  of  learning  or  wit  in 
his  sermons,  but  chose  to  appear  as  one  who  was  in 
good  earnest  himself,  and  intent  upon  doing  good  to 
the  souls  of  men.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  workman  that 
needed  not  to  be  ashamed,  rightly  dividing  the  word 
of  truth. 


THE  pastor's  death.  43 

'  His  talents  for  managino;  ecclesiastical  causes  weru 
uncommon  :  his  mind  enabled  him  readily  to  compre- 
hend them  ;  he  considered  them  with  impartiality ; 
his  reasonings  were  forcible,  and  conducted,  when  the 
subjects  under  deliberation  were  important  and  inter- 
esting, with  very  considerable  powers  of  eloquence. 
This  feature  in  his  character  will  be  readily  attested 
by  his  co-presbyters,  who  have  witnessed  the  active 
interest  he  took  in  the  subjects  under  discussion,  and 
will  long  remember  the  able  assistance  he  gave  for 
bringing  them  to  an  amicable  termination.  While  he 
saw  and  felt  the  necessity  of  maintaining  the  just 
authority  of  ecclesiastical  decisions,  he  was  averse  to 
the  having  that  authority  unnecessarily  interposed, 
and  always  wished  the  government  of  the  church  to 
be  conducted  with  lenity  and  moderation.  His  pru- 
dence was  often  seen  in  conducting  an  affair  of 
difficulty,  or  managing  a  debate  of  consequence ;  in 
foreseeing  probable  difficulties,  and  finding  out  proper 
expedients,  in  which  he  was  often  singularly  happy. 

'His  dispositions  were  highly  social,  and  no  man 
enjoyed  a  friend  with  a  greater  relish,  or  was  better 
qualified  to  communicate  a  reciprocal  pleasure.  He 
had  an  uncommon  dexterity  in  hitting  on  those  topics 
which  are  proper  for  general  conversation,  and  saying 
those  things  which  are  calculated  to  entertain  and  to 
please.  He  was  quick  in  discerning  whatever  was  im- 
proper in  others,  and  was  careful  to  avoid  everything 
of  the  kind  in  his  own  behaviour.     There  was  a  polish 


44  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

and  politeness  in  his  manner,  which  made  him  agree- 
able to  all  with  whom  he  had  intercourse,  and  qualified 
him  to  be  the  companion  and  delight  of  the  higher 
ranks  of  society,  in  which  he  never  forgot  the  sanctity 
of  the  clerical  character,  and  the  respect  that  was  due 
to  the  religion  of  the  gospel.  He  was  particularly 
cautious  in  his  expressions,  when  remarking  on  the 
character  and  conduct  of  other  men.  He  was  a  lover 
of  good  men,  and  a  friend  of  mankind.  He  detested 
rash  and  censorious  reflections  upon  characters,  and 
discouraged  sitting  in  judgment  upon  the  hearts  and 
states  of  others;  he  would  no  more  have  slandered  a 
fellow-christian,  than  he  would  have  cheated  and 
oppressed  him.  The  writer  of  this  memoir  was  often 
delighted  in  hearing  him  check,  especially  in  young 
people,  illiberal  and  ill-natured  observations  respecting 
the  character  and  deportment  of  those  about  whom 
they  conversed  ;  here  his  maxim  was,  "  Speak  evil  of 
no  man." 

'  High  as  his  attainments  were,  he  had  a  natural 
diffidence  and  distrust  of  himself;  he  was  always  ready 
to  receive  information  from  any  quarter,  and  paid  a 
great  deference  to  the  judgment  and  reasons  of  others. 
He  loved  peace,  he  studied  peace,  he  cultivated  peace, 
and  was  ready  to  make  considerable  sacrifices  for  the 
sake  of  peace.  To  methods  of  violence  and  wrath,  he 
had  a  natural, — a  strong  aversion.  He  was  peculiarly 
distinguished  for  tenderness  of  mind,  and  in  all  his  ways 
was  careful  not  to  violate  the  rights  of  conscience. 


THE  pastor's  death.  45 

'  In  all  schemes  of  liberal  improvement  and  bene- 
volence, he  was  uncommonly  active  and  persevering. 
Nothing  of  this  kind,  that  was  consistent  with  his 
official  character,  was  ever  attempted  in  Dunfermline, 
in  which  he  did  not  take  a  decided  part.  In  forming 
and  managing  bible  and  missionary  societies,  schemes 
for  the  support  and  comfort  of  the  poor,  etc.  etc.,  he 
was  skilful,  active,  and  unwearied.  Here  his  loss  in 
Dunfermline  will  be  sensibly  and  deeply  felt ;  his  solid 
judgment,  his  uncommon  capacity  of  distinguishing 
the  differences  of  things,  and  discerning  the  true 
state  of  matters  under  consideration,  rendered  him 
extremely  useful.  Such  was  the  ardour  and  activity 
of  his  disposition,  that  he  was  not  easily  tired  or  soon 
discouraged  by  the  difficulties  attending  attempts  at 
improvement.  He  was  truly  a  man  of  public 
spirit. 

'  His  piety  was  uniform, — was  a  steady,  regular 
course  of  serious  regard  to  God,  without  the  least 
tincture  of  or  tendency  to  enthusiasm,  notwithstanding 
some  natural  warmth  and  eagerness  of  temper.  His 
religion  pervaded  every  part  of  his  conduct  in  public 
and  private  life,  at  home  and  abroad.  It  was  his  study 
ever  to  act  as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible. 

'  His  afflictions  he  endured  with  exemplary  patience 
and  resignation,  and  he-afforded  satisfactory  evidence 
that  he  died  in  the  faith  and  hope  of  that  gospel 
which  he  had  long  and  faithfully  preached.  In  his 
last   illness   he   repeatedly   declared,    "that   he   had 


46  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

strong  consolation,  loithout  fear,  in  the  hope  set  before 
him."  After  recoverino;  a  little  from  a  severe  nervous 
affection,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  his 
colleague,  who  stood  by  him,  he  said,  with  much 
emphasis,  "  The  Lord  be  with  you."  On  another 
occasion,  the  same  individual' sitting  by  and  watching 
his  motions,  heard  him  utter  a  groan,  which  led  him 
to  inquire  whether  he  wanted  anything.  He  looked 
up,  and  said,  "  I  was  thinking  on  these  words  of  the 
prophet,  '  Glorify  ye  the  Lord  in  the  fires.'  "  When 
it  was  remarked,  "  Well,  Sir,  I  hope  you  are  doing 
so ;  you  are  acquiescing  in  the  will  of  God  under  your 
afflictions,  and  in  so  doing  you  are  glorifying  God," 
he  replied,  "  I  wish  to  do  it." 

'  On  the  Sabbath,  ten  days  before  his  death,  when 
very  much  distressed,  his  son  remarked  to  him,  "  You 
have  had  very  few  Sabbaths  like  this,  father." 
"  True,"  said  he,  "  but  there  remaineth  a  rest  for  the 
people  of  God.  O  to  have  a  well-grounded  hope  of 
that  rest !"  On  another  occasion  his  son  said,  "  I 
wish  I  could  relieve  you,  father."  In  answer  to  this 
he  said  with  much  feeling,  "  I  believe  you  would, 
James,  but  vain  is  the  help  of  man ;  my  trust  is  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord."  At  another  time  the  same 
relation  remarked  to  him,  that  Paul  had  arrived  at  a 
high  attainment  when  he  said,  "  For  I  am  persuaded, 
that  neither  death,  nor  life,"  etc.  (Rom.  viii.  38,  39.) 
With  considerable  energy  he  said,  "  O  yes,  glorious 
triumph  ;  glorious  triumph  !"     Many  other  passages  of 


THE  pastor's  death.  47 

scripture  were,  at  intervals,  repeated  by  him  in  a 
manner  which  plainly  showed  the  delight  he  liad  in 
them,  and  the  comfort  he  derived  from  them.  But 
such  was  the  nature  of  his  complaint,  that  he  was 
unable  for  some  days  before  his  death  to  utter  almost 
a  word.  This  was  peculiarly  distressing  to  his  rela- 
tives and  friends ;  but  such  was  the  will  of  Him  over 
whose  ways  we  have  no  control.  It  was  remarked  by 
one  who  constantly  attended  him,  that  he  had  never 
seen  death  approach  any  individual  so  gradually. 
The  king  of  terrors  seemed  to  approach  him  with 
steps  imperceptible,  even  to  the  anxious  observers  who 
surrounded  him.  At  last,  however,  on  the  17th  of 
May,  he  inflicted  the  stroke  which  parted  his  soul  from 
his  body,  which,  there  is  no  doubt,  has  winged  its  way 
to  the  mansions  of  eternal  rest,  where  it  associates  with 
the  spirits  of  the  just,  in  the  vision  and  fruition  of  God, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost.  "Mark  the  perfect 
man,  and  behold  the  upright :  for  the  end  of  that  man 
is  peace.''  Who  can  be  so  insensible  as  not  to  exclaim, 
"  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my 
last  end  be  like  his?'" 

Mr  Macfarlane  siarvlved  this  affliction  only  about 
two  years.  The  last  charm  of  life  to  him  had  fled.  In 
the  winter  of  1823  he  endured  a  great  amount  of 
bodily  suffering,  and  that  with  much  christian 
patience.  This  chapter  shall  be  closed  with  a  brief 
account  of  some  of  his  death-bed  scenes  and  sayings  : — 


48  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

At  his  bed-side,  one  afternoon  shortly  before  his  de- 
cease, and  after  a  season  of  spiritual  darkness  had 
been  endured,  sat  the  Rev.  Ebenezer  Brown,  of  In- 
verkeithing — a  singularly  devout  man,  and  a  most 
eloquent  gospel  preacher  for  nearly  half  a  century.* 
He  had  come  up  to  Dunfermline,  for  the  last  time, 
to  pray  with,  and  say  farewell  to  his  friend.  It 
was  a  solemn  and  affecting  interview.  For  nearly 
forty  years  they  had  lived  in  the  most  hallowed 
bonds  of  friendship.  They  loved  each  other  '  with 
pure  hearts  fervently.'  They  were  knit  together, 
as  were  Jonathan  and  David ;  and  to  Mr  Brown 
the  prospect  of  his  friend's  death  was  oppressively 
painful.  It  was  when  Mr  Brown  was  on  his  death- 
bed, about  thirteen  years  afterwards,  that  he  narrated 
the  scene  referred  to,  to  the  compiler  of  these  notices,  t 
As  far  as  memory  is  serviceable,  the  following  is  a  sub- 
stantially correct  account  of  what  was  then  communi- 
cated. After  some  conversation  about  the  solemnity 
of  death,  and  the  perfect  safety  of  the  believer  when 
subjected  to  its  stroke,  Mr  Brown,  while  he  lay  tran- 
quil as  a  sleeping  infant  on  his  bed  of  pain,  thus  ex- 
pressed himself: — 

'  Sir,  I  loved  your  father.  He  was  a  good  man, 
a  powerful  preacher  of  Jesus  and  his  cross,  and  a 
feithful  minister.     We  were  long  associated,  in  this 

*  Son  of  the  well-known  John  Brown,  of  Haddington,  author  of 
the  Self-Interpreting  Bible,  and  other  valuable  works, 
t  Mr  Brown  died  at  Inverkeithing  in  March,  1836. 


THE  pastor's  death.  49 

part  of  the  country,  in  the  ser\dce  of  om*  Lord ;  and 
many  happy,  happy  days  we  spent  together,  especially 
at  oiu*  sacramental  commmiion  seasons.  Often,  often 
— yea,  not  a  day  passes  over  me,  but  I  think  of  him 
and  Dr  Husband,  and  Mr  Greig  of  Lochgelly,  and 
Mr  Hadden  of  Limekilns.*  But  they  are  all  gone ; 
and  I  have  been,  as  it  were,  alone  ever  since  they  left 
this  world.     I  shall  join  them  soon  now.' 

'  You  formed,  indeed,  a  lovely  and  attached  brother- 
hood,' was  the  reply ;  '  and  sweet  was  the  counsel  you 
took  together.  You  saw  my  father  on  his  death-bed, 
did  you  not,  Mr  Brown  V 

'Yes,  Sir,  I  did.  I  saw  him  frequently;  and  I 
will  never  forget  my  last  interview  A\ith  him.' 

'  Do  you  think  you  could  repeat  it  V 

'  I  can,'  replied  Mr  Brown.  '  We  had  been  con- 
versing about  the  days  of  old,  and  the  scenes  and 
fi-iends  of  other  years;  and  his  whole  heart  seemed 
full  of  the  delightful  theme,  when  some  of  yom- 
brothers  entered  the  room.  When  first  anticipating 
death,  his  anxiety  about  you  all,  and  your  ftiture  lots 
in  this  world,  were  agonising.  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
now  relieved  of  cares  about  his  childi-en,  so  soon  to  be 
left  orphans  ?  He  said  at  once,  "  I  am  :  my  anxieties 
are  clean  gone.  I  have  cast  ever}^  one  of  them 
upon  God,  and  have  no  fear  whatever  but  that 
they  shall  be  provided  for.  The  God  of  their  grand- 
father and   then*   father  will   not  forsake  them.      I 

*  Members  of  tLe  Presbytery  of  Dunfermline  along  with  Mr  Brown. 
C 


50  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

have  no  wish  that  any  of  them  shall  be  rich  or  great 
in  this  world.  My  prayer  for  them  is,  that  they  all 
may  be  good,  and  like  Obadiah,  '  fearers  of  the  Lord 
from  their  youth.'  Theii- future  condition  in  life  never 
gives  me  one  uneasy  thought — it  never  even  intnides 
itself  upon  my  reflections.  When  father  and  mother 
have  forsaken  them,  the  Lord  ^\\\\  take  them  up." '  * 

After  some  pause,   this  aged   and   d^dng  Apollos 
continued  his  narrative  : — 

'  I  was  desirous  to  hear  Mr  Macfarlane  once  more 
declare  the  foundation  of  his  hope,  and  asked  him  if  j 
on  looldng  back  on  his  long  and  useful  life,  he  was 
conscious  of  any  degree  of  reliance  for  his  oAvn  salva- 
tion upon  his  sendees  to  the  Redeemer,  as  a  minister 
of  the  New  Testament  ?  I  shall  never  forget  either 
his  reply  or  the  manner  in  which  it  was  given. 
Hitherto,  from  his  gTeat  sufferings,  he  had  spoken  in 
a  somewhat  feeble  tone ;  but  now  he  raised  himself  in 
bed,  as  if  his  strength  had  returned,  and,  with  a  loud 
voice,  which  reminded  me  of  his  best  days,  he  said : 
''  No,   ]Mr  Brown.     No  :    God  forbid   that   I 

SHOULD    GLORY,  SAVE  IN  THE  CrOSS  OF  OUR  LORD 

Jesus  Christ.  I  am  indeed  a  poor  sinful  crea- 
ture ;  but  the  righteousness,  the  GLORIOUS, 
THE  perfect,  the  INESTIMABLE,  THE  MATCHLESS, 
THE  EVERLASTING  RIGHTEOUSNESS  OF  ChRIST,  IS 
THE  FOUNDATION  OF  MY  HOPE,  THE  SOURCE  OF  MY 
JOY,  THE  OBJECT  OF  MY  GLORY,  AND  SHALL  BE  THE 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  67-72, 


THE  pastor's  death.  51 

THEME  OF  MY  SONG  THROUGHOUT  EVERLASTING 
AGES.  Yea,  WORTHY  IS  THE  LaMB  THAT  WAS 
SLAIN,  TO  RECEIVE  HONOUR  AND  GLORY  IN  MY 
SALVATION." '  * 

During  tlie  season  of  spiritual  darkness  to  which 
reference  has  been  made,  he  never  failed  to  use  the 
Word  of  God ;  and  it  was  by  the  use  of  it  that  his 
soul  again  rejoiced  in  the  smile  of  his  Father's  face. 
To  Mr  Brown  he  remarked :  '  It  is  the  word  of  God 
alone  that  can  support  under  trouble,  and  the  grace  of 
God  alone  which  can  keep  the  wounded  spirit  from 
despau'.'  And  to  another  friend  he  added :  '  I  am 
determined  to  rest  upon  a  fomidation  that  shall  bring 
me  to  heaven ;  and  there  I  place  all  my  hope.' 

'  How  have  you  passed  the  night  f  inquired  a  near 
relative,  a  httle  before  his  death. 

'  Very  poorly,'  he  replied.  '  No  sleep — no  sleep ; 
I  have  had  a  sore  night  of  it.  But  I  have  been  amply 
compensated  for  it  all,  by  bemg  allowed  to  contem- 
plate in  peace  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  taketh  away  the 
sin  of  the  world.  O,  I  sincerely  wish  that  all  my 
fi'iends,  all  my  enemies,  all  manldnd  had  such  a  view 
of  the  atoning  Lamb  of  God  as  I  have  this  night  ob- 
tained !'  t 

'  Father,'  said  one  of  his  sons,  who  devoted  himself 
dm'ing  the  whole  mnter  to  the  watchftilness  and 
fatigues  of  a  parent's  death-bed — 'Father,  do  you 
want  anything?' 

*  See  'The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  122-132.  f  Ibid,  pp.  232-237. 


52  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  O  yes,'  was  the  striking  reply :  '  I  want  the  par- 
don of  my  many  sins,  the  sanctification  of  my  heart, 
God's  blessing  here,  and  the  enjoyment  of  him  here- 
after for  ever.' 

'  What  shall  I  do  V  he  exclaimed,  under  a  severe 
spasm  of  pain;  but  instantly  checking  himself,  he 
added,  '  What  can  I  do  but  just  trust  in  God  T 

'  O  that  I  had  "svings  like  a  dove,'  he  aftenvards 
said,  '  that  I  might  fly  hence,  and  be  at  rest,  even  to 
the  bosom  of  my  redeeming  Lord  and  Sa"s^our !' 

Again :  '  I  have  many  kind  fi'iends  where  my  lot 
is  cast;  and  the  kindness  sho^vn  me  by  them  may 
make  me  averse  to  leave  this  world.  But  have  I 
not  relations  and  fiiends  in  the  other  world,  far 
dearer  to  me  than  any  that  remain ;  and  why  should 
I  be  reluctant  to  go  to  them  V  And  then  he  added, 
'  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  much  influenced  in  my  desire 
to  depart  by  the  hope  of  meeting  my  dear  friends  in 
gloiy.' 

'  Ever  since  I  was  capable  of  exercising  reason,'  he 
said  to  his  beloved  friend,  Mr  Brown,  '  God  hath 
been  good,  marvellously  good  to  me ;  but  T  have  been 
a  most  perverse,  ignorant,  and  rebellious  creature.' 

'But  though  goodness  and  mercy,'  replied  Mr 
Brown,  '  have  followed  you  all  the  days  of  your  life, 
that  is  a  small  matter,  when  compared  A\'ith  being  an 
eternal  monument  of  redeeming  love.' 

'  That  is  a  pleasing  prospect,'  replied  the  dying 
pastor.     ' But  I  ha^e  no  hope  in  anything  in  me,  or 


THE  pastor's  deatu.  53 

done  by  me.  On  the  finished  righteousness  of  Christ 
alone  I  rest.' 

On  taking  farewell,  till  they  should  meet  in  glory, 
the  last  words  he  uttered  to  the  venerable  Brown 
were  these :  '  Pray  for  me,  Mr  Brown,  that  I  may 
be  spiritually-minded.  Ah !  the  enemy  suggests 
thoughts  about  the  merest  trifles.'  The  promise  was 
given ;  and  they  saw  each  other  no  more. 

Shortly  before  he  expired,  and  after  a  severe  spas- 
modic attack,  he  said  to  his  son  :  'Ah,  James,  it  is  a 
serious  thing  to  die !'  And  as  the  sord  was  departing, 
he  closed  his  testimony  and  his  life  ^vith  these  words : 
'  The  time  of  my  departure  is  at  hand.' 

His  death  occiuTcd  on  the  afternoon  of  the  10th 
of  April,  1823,  and  his  mortal  remains  were  placed 
beside  those  of  his  lamented  wife,  in  the  Abbey 
church-yard,  and  near*  to  the  honoured  grave  where 
are  interred  his  predecessors  in  office — Ralph  Erskine, 
Mr  Smith,  and  Dr  Husband.  On  the  afternoon 
of  the  follomng  Sabbath,  the  fmieral  sermon  was 
preached  to  a  large  and  mourning  congregation  of 
about  three  thousand  persons,  by  another  of  his  co- 
presbyters — a  man  of  vast  attainments  in  the  science 
of  true  gospel,  and  who,  for  profundity  of  thought 
and  weight  of  judgment  in  di\ine  things,  might  have 
been  termed  the  Howe  or  Flavel  of  his  time.  This 
was  the  Rev.  Da^dd  Greig,  of  Lochgelly,  who  followed 
his  friend  in  a  few  months  after  this  to  the  kingdom 
of  heaven. 


54  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

These  records  of  the  holy  hves  and  death-bed  scenes 
of  the  parents  and  friends  of  the  youthful  subject  of 
the  following  Memorials  must  now  be  closed.  By 
their  penisal,  the  reader  has  been  detained  from  the 
prmcipal  subject  of  this  volume ;  but  before  he  has 
gone  through  its  pages,  he  may  discover  enough  to 
justify  the  detention.  They  are  designed  to  sen'e  as 
an  appropriate  introduction  to  the  unveiKng  of  a 
death-bed  work,  which,  by  all  who  witnessed  it,  was 
considered  unusually  solemn  and  instructive.  They 
will  help  to  account  for  any  peculiarity  about  the 
style  of  converse  in  the  dying  chamber,  and  for  what 
othenvise,  in  the  views  and  exercises  of  the  sufferer, 
her  counsellors  and  her  comforters,  might  be  mistaken 
for  the  fruit  of  evanescent  impressions,  or  the  hasty 
decisions  of  weak,  though  amiable  partiality.  De- 
scended as  she  was  fi'om  parents  of  such  mifeigned 
faith,  and  surrounded  as  she  had  been  by  a  class  of 
friends  of  like  piety,  there  shoiild  be  no  sru'prise  if  we 
find  her,  when  placed  in  the  fuhiess  and  freshness  of 
youth,  upon  a  bed  of  suffering  and  of  death,  meetmg 
the  king  of  ten*ors  at  the  fii'st  mth  the  shudders  of 
natui'e,  and  aftenvards  with  the  triumphs  of  faith. 
We  have  sometimes  accounts  of  peaceftil  latter  ends, 
when  no  relative  religion,  either  foregone  or  existent, 
serves  in  any  way  to  accomit  for  it.  This  does  not 
detract  from  thefr  genuineness  or  interest.  It  is  easy 
for  the  intellig'ent  christian,  who  understands  that  the 
smritual  in  religion  is  not  and  cannot  be  inherited 


THE  pastor's  death.  55 

from  forefathers,  to  accoiuit  for  its  existence  and  its 
fruits  in  eminent  converts.  At  once  he  traces  it  to 
the  so^'ereignty  of  Him  who  '  ^Adll  have  mercy  upon 
whom  he  will  have  mercy.'  At  the  same  time,  to  see 
the  piety  of  the  parent  re-appearing  in  the  child,  is  an 
interesting  and  useftd  spectacle.  It  teaches  us  the 
value  of  a  holy  parentage — it  impressively  illustrates 
the  covenant  faithfulness  of  Jehovah,  as  descending 
from  sire  to  son,  and  gives  encouragement  to  those 
who  have  offspring,  to  believe  in  God  and  also  in 
Chiist,  for  their  OAvn  and  for  their  children's  sake. 
Though  not  necessarily  hereditary^  godliness  may  be 
perpetuated  in  families,  through  the  di^ine  blessing 
\m.  the  pious  example,  the  careful  tuition,  and  the 
effectual,  fervent  prayers  of  parents  who  fear  God. 
How  sadly  do  they  mistake  who  are  exceedingly  keen 
to  amass  mere  earthly  treasui*e  for  their  children  ! 
They  may  or  they  may  not  succeed.  If  they  do  not, 
they  discover  their  folly  when  it  is  too  late  to  try  the 
experiment  of  religion ;  and  even  if  they  do,  they  are 
either  removed  fi'om  the  AA'orld  without  the  o-ratifica- 
tion  of  seeing  the  use  to  which  the  sweat  of  their 
brow  is  applied,  or  else  they  endiu'e  the  agony  of 
Avitnessing  the  profits  of  a  lifetime's  labour  sacrificed 
on  the  altars  of  vanity,  or  in  the  shambles  of  vice. 
Wealth  without  piety  is  the  goldbeater's  leaf  spread 
over  the  mouth  of  hell.  Piety,  even  AAithout  wealth,  is 
the  steep  and  rugged,  it  may  be,  but  the  safe  ascent 
to   lieaven.     Better  far  it    is   for  parents    to  secure 


56  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

spiritual  blessings  for  their  cliilclren  by  consecrating 
tliem  to,  and  training  them  tip  for  God.  To  leave  to 
them  a  fortune  may  be  the  transmission  of  a  curse; 
and  in  a  few  years  hence  they  may  be  seen  forsaken 
and  begging  their  bread.  But  to  have  cast  them  by 
faith  upon  the  mercy  and  care  of  Jehovah,  may  be 
followed  not  only  by  a  competence  or  superfluity  in 
this  world,  but  by  the  blessings  of  his  salvation  and 
the  ^dgilance  of  his  providence.  The  eminently  godly 
men  referred  to  in  the  prececUng  pages  exemplified  aU 
this  upon  a  grand  scale.  Living  by  faith  themselves, 
they  committed  by  faith  their  offspiing  to  God ;  and 
none  of  then*  descendants,  it  is  hoped,  will  behe  his 
faithfulness,  or  do  despite  unto  his  covenant.  This 
was  indeed  the  result  of  the  use  they  made  of  heaven. 
They  had  no  doubt  of  there  being  such  a  place, 
and  they  had  respect  unto  it  and  its  recompense  of 
reward.  The  hope  of  inheriting  it  raised  them  far 
above  the  love  of  this  present  world,  and  not  only 
made  them  feel  and  act  as  '  heirs  of  God,  and  joint- 
heh's  with  Clu'ist,'  but  disposed  them  to  care  nothing 
about  the  temporal  compared  mth  the  sj^iritual  opu- 
lence of  their  descendants.  For  this  they  longed, 
and  laboured,  and  prayed ;  and  this,  we  hope,  shall  be 
the  happiness  of  then-  offspring. 


CHAPTER  III. 


CBarlg  Nurture  anli  ^tJtnonitton. 

'  Sweet  stream  that  winds  through  yonder  glade — 

Apt  emblem  of  a  vh-tuous  maid — 

Silent  and  chaste,  she  steals  along, 

Far  from  the  world's  gay,  busy  throng  ; 

With  gentle,  yet  prevailing  force, 

Intent  upon  her  destined  course ; 

Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does, 

Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes.' 

('OWPER. 

On  an  afternoon,  a  few  days  subsequent  to  the  events 
recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter,  a  singularly  vene- 
rable-looking old  gentleman  was  seen  walking  up  the 
approach  to  the  manse  of  the  deceased  pastor.  His 
step  was  slow,  his  eye  was  tearful,  and  his  whole 
demeanour  told  of  a  mind  sadly  meditative  of  scenes 
and  objects  which  the  old  and  sombre-looldng  dwell- 
ing-house before  him  seemed  to  recall.  The  snow- 
white  locks  that  flow^ed  down  his  neck — the  deep  and 
holy  aspect  which  many  and  grave  experiences  had 
given  to  a  face  of  perfect  symmetry — the  look  of 
heavenly  contemplation  that  came  fi'om  a  dark  but 

exquisitely-benevolent  eye — and  the  gentle  stoop  of 

c2 


58  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

what  had  been  a  somewhat  tall  and  commanding  form, 
told  of  a  good  old  age  and  a  good  old  discipleship. 
As  he  passed  through  the  gate,  his  eye  first  glanced 
at  the  spacious  and  remarkable  edifice,  the  chm'ch, 
A^dthin  whose  walls  so  often  he  had  heard,  and  so  often 
himself  preached  the  glorious  gospel.  His  heart  gave 
way  within  him  as  he  reflected  on  the  pulpit  now 
vacant — his  former  fi'iends,  the  co-pastors,  with  whom, 
dm'ina;  a  lone;  and  lovelv,  thouo-h  in  some  measm'e 

O  O  t^    7  CD 

afflicted,  hfe,  he  had  enjoyed  a  holy  fellowship,  being 
now  gathered  to  their  fathers;  but,  as  the  thought 
pressed  upon  him  of  his  own  coming  departure  fi'om 
tliis  world  of  soitow,  and  of  his  soon  rejoining  them  in 
the  realms  of  bHss,  the  consolations  of  hope  chased 
away  the  shades  of  grief  fi'om  his  view.  As  he  neared 
the  manse,  however,  his  usual  serious  expression  re- 
sumed its  place.  He  thought  of  the  happy  days  he 
had  passed  A^-ithin  its  walls,  ^Wth  a  cu'cle  of  clu'istian 
associates,  of  whom  he  was  one  of  a  veiy  few  momm- 
ing  survivors.  There  they  had  often  asseijibled — not 
for  the  mere  pm*pose  of  ordinaiy  pastime,  or  formal 
visitation,  but  for  taking  sweet  coiuisel  together  upon 
matters  '  touchino;  the  Kmo- ' — for  talldno-  ^\'itli  each 
other  by  the  way  of  the  wondei-ftil  works  of  the  Lord — 
and  for  singuig  together,  as  they  always  did  before 
parting,  the  psalm,  or  hymn,  or  spmtual  song  that 
extolled  the  praises  of  redeeming  love.  But  these 
loved  forms  were  now  invisible ;  these  devotions  were 
now  reposing  in  the  solemn  chambers  of  memor^^;  and 


EAULY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      59 

these  voices  were  now  sounding  the  Gospel  Hallel  in 
the  celestial  temple.  As  he  thus  endured  the  nisli  of 
affecting,  of  almost  subduing  recollection,  the  old 
man  raised  his  hands,  as  his  vront  was,  and  Avith 
a  quick  glance  of  his  eye  upwards,  registered  a 
prayer  above.  And  now  the  youth  who  had  been 
watching  from  a  parlour  window  the  coming  of  the 
beloved  man  of  God,  opened  the  hall  door,  and 
admitted  him  to  what  proved  his  last  inter\aew,  in 
that  old  habitation  of  piety,  with  the  orphans  of  his 
deceased  friend,  and  especially  with  her  whose  l)ricf 
stoiy  of  hfe  and  latter  end  we  are  to  review. 

IIa\an£r  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  the  Rev.  Mr 
Brown  of  Inverkeithing  (for  it  was  he)  requested  that 
the  fami'ly  should  be  called  into  his  presence.  Witli 
the  exception  of  two,  who  had  returned,  after  the 
fimeral  of  their  father,  to  Edinbm'gh,  all  the  children 
appeared  and  sat  before  him.  He  told  them  that  he 
had  come  up  to  Dunfermhne  to  see  the  siuwivors  of 
one  now  in  gloiT — to  shed  his  tears  of  s}anpathy 
wdth  then'  tears  of  orphan  sorrow; — that  he  had 
loved  their  father — felt  his  death  a  great  loss  to  him- 
self— and  the  want  of  his  society  and  counsel  a  blank 
which  could  not  in  this  life  be  filled  up ;—  that  it  be- 
came them  to  be  thaidvful  to  God  for  having  had  such 
a  parent ;  and  now  that  father  and  mother  had  for- 
saken them,  to  be  sure  that  they  claimed  for  tlieir 
father  that  God  who  had  promised  never  to  leave  nor 
forsake  any  that  clung  to  him  as  their  j)rotector  and 


60  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

provider.  With  his  ordinary  deep,  impressive,  and 
musical  voice,  he  then  repeated  the  charge  of  King 
David  to  Solomon  his  son  :  '  And  thou,  Solomon,  my 
son,  know  thou  the  God  of  thy  fathers,  and  serve  him 
with  a  perfect  heart  and  with  a  Availing  mind ;  for  the 
Lord  searcheth  all  hearts,  and  understandeth  all  the 
imaginations  of  the  thoughts.  If  thou  seek  him,  he 
will  be  found  of  thee ;  but  if  thou  forsake  him,  he  will 
cast  thee  off  for  ever.'  Having  continued  for  some 
time  in  thus  exhorting  and  comforting  his  weeping 
young  friends,  he  concluded  his  address  to  them  with 
this  fine  sentiment.  It  is  given  to  the  reader  from 
recollection,  but  it  is  substantially,  and  as  nearly  as 
possible  verbally,  as  JSIi'  Bro^^^l  uttered  it.  Children 
who  have  parents  in  the  eternal  world  would  do  well  to 
ponder,  and  submit  to  be  taught  by  its  affecting  and 
eloquent  appeal :  '  And  now,  my  dear  childi'en,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  you  are  sorrowing  for  the  loss  you  have 
sustained;  and  sometimes  the  recollections  of  your 
worthy  father  mil  come  upon  you  so  as  to  sadden  and 
perhaps  distress  you,  especially  when  you  remember 
how  often  you  neglected  his  counsels,  and  grieved  his 
heart  by  yoiu'  misconduct  or  disobligingness.  I  dare 
say,  ere  now,  you  vdW  have  thought  it  to  yoiu'selves, 
that,  if  you  but  had  him  back  again,  or  if  you  had  to 
live  over  again  the  time  you  were  pmdleged  to  enjoy 
his  care  and  love,  you  would  watch  his  every  look, 
anticipate  his  every  wish,  and  be  ready  to  fulfil  his  every 
command — delighted  to   please  huu,  and  anxious  to 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.  <U 

avoid  eveiy  word  and  action  tliat  might  afflict  him. 
You  will  no  doubt,  also,  be  thinldng  that  it  would  be 
a  great  gratification  to  you  if  you  again  had  it  in  your 
power  to  make  him  happy.  Now,  this  is  what  I  -wish 
to  impress  upon  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  forget 
it :  Though  yoiu-  father  be  dead,  and  is  never  to  re- 
turn to  you,  you  can  even  yet  add  to  his  happiness. 
You  ask  me,  Hoio  is  this  ?  Well,  I  read  in  my  Bible 
that  "joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  re- 
penteth."  Repent  you,  then,  of  your  sins,  and  be 
lioly,  fearing  God,  keeping  his  commandments,  be- 
lieving in  and  losing  the  Lord  Jesus ;  and  you  are 
certain,  even  here,  to  please  yom'  departed  parent.  In 
heaven,  they  have  perfect  sympathy  with  all  that  goes 
on  upon  earth  connected  viith  their  Redeemer's  glory ; 
and  it  cannot  be  othenvise  than  that,  in  the  conver- 
sion and  piety  of  those  near  and  dear  to  them  in  this 
world,  the  spirits  of  yoiu'  beloved  friends  above  should 
take  a  very  deep  and  intense  interest.' 

Ha^^ng  gathered  the  family  aroiuid  the  throne  of 
gi'ace,  and  placed  them  underneath  the  wings  of  the 
Angel  of  the  Covenant,  this  last  of  that  christian 
band,  whose  Ha'cs  had,  for  half  a  century,  distilled 
as  the  dew  the  influences  of  christian  faith  and 
manners  over  all  that  neighbourhood,  closed  his 
earthly  intervievvS  "u-ith  the  family.  Dming  the  few 
years  that  he  survived,  individuals  of  them  occa- 
sionally met  with  him ;  but  death,  the  breaker  up  of 
so   many   ties,    soon    dispersed   them   in    the   world, 


62  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

and  tliej  never  all  met  again  beneath  that  hallowed 
roof-tree.  There  Avas  one,  however,  in  the  little  group 
that  sat  at  his  feet  during  the  scene  referred  to,  to 
whom,  as  an  only  daughter,  he  paid  marked  attention, 
and  over  whom  he  tenderly  yearned.  Agnes  heard 
his  parting  counsels  that  day ;  and  it  is  thought  these 
left  an  impression  which,  for  a  length  of  time,  at 
least,  she  felt  and  owned.  The  next  time  we  see  them 
together  shall  be  in  far  more  affecting  circumstances. 
It  has  been  akeady  stated,  that  at  the  time  of  her 
mother's  death,  Agnes  was  about  six  years  of  age. 
From  that  event  up  to  the  death  of  her  father,  she 
had  continued  under  the  paternal  roof,  an  object 
of  special  interest  to  the  surviving  parent  and  all 
her  mother's  friends.  Lively  and  quick  fi'om  child- 
hood, open,  frank,  generous  in  her  dispositions,  and 
withal  decidedly  superior  in  her  natui'al  and  acquired 
attainments  to  most  of  her  companions,  she  was  re- 
marked by  those  who  knew  her  as  an  interesting  and 
promising  girl.  If  her  father  can  be  said  to  have  had 
a  partiality  for  one  above  another,  she  was  that  one, 
though,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  careful  not  to  allow 
this  partiality  to  injure  either  her  or  her  brothers.  His 
heart  closed  in  upon  his  merry,  clever,  and  engaging 
child,  when,  at  any  time,  the  claims  of  the  only 
daiighter  of  her  mother  came  down  upon  him  in  their 
touching  power.  But  his  heart  was  large  enough  for 
them  all,  and  for  each  child  there  was  a  room  of  affec- 
tion in  it  and  to  spare.      Agnes  was  never  what  is 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      G3 

called  a  spoiled  or  })etted  cliild.  Among  her  .brothers 
she  was  "veiy  much  one  of  themsehes,  and  though 
not  what  is  called  a  '  romp,'  she  was  necessarily  con- 
strained to  share  vnih  them  in  theu*  proper  gambols 
and  sports,  ha\dng  in  these  generally  ceded  to  her  the 
gxatification  of  her  peculiar  will.  Without  knowing 
of  it,  she  gradually  imbibed  a  veiy  good-natiu'ed  ex- 
pectation that  her  ^^dshes  should  not  be  disregarded ; 
and  thus  she  acquu-ed  a  place  and  a  power  in  their 
affections  which  she  never  lost,  and  which  she  con- 
tinued more  and  more  to  deserve. 

Her  education  was,  after  her  mother's  death,  mainly 
supermtended  by  her  father,  and  her  proficiency  was 
at  least  equal  to  her  opportmiities.  The  approbation 
of  her  several  teachers  was  apparent  both  ft'om  the 
premiums  with  which  her  diligence  was  rewarded, 
and  from  tlieu'  readiness  afterwards  to  do  justice  to  her 
eagerness  and  aptitude  to  learn.  No  doubt  the  loss 
of  her  mother  at  such  an  interesting  age  was  a  draw- 
back on  many  accounts,  and,  from  what  was  after- 
wards discovered,  she  must  have  felt  that  loss  not  a 
little.  However  willing  and  anxious,  no  one  can 
supply  a  mother's  place,  especially  to  a  daughter  in 
pupilage.  At  an  early  period,  her  constitution  indi- 
cated that  delicacy  which  requii'ed  maternal  care.  As 
she  grew  up,  and,  strictly  speaking,  had  no  home  of 
her  ovm,  she  became  aware  of  her  need  of  female 
spnpathy;  and  there  is  reason  to  fear  that,  from  her 
extreme  delicacy  of  feelmg,  her  health  did  not  obtain 


64  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

that  watchfulness  which  might  have  suggested  reme- 
dies in  time  to  have  warded  off  the  approaches  of  the 
destroyer.  Rather  then  complain,  or  be  the  cause  of 
trouble  to  any  of  those  dear  families  among  whom  she 
occasionally  lived,  she  preferred  to  suffer  and  to  pine 
in  secret  over  those  constitutional  infirmities  which, 
when  concealment  was  no  longer  possible,  drew  from 
her  a  reluctant  disclosiue. 

In  the  manse  at  Dunfermhne  she  enjoyed,  during 
her  father's  Hfe,  the  most  ample  means  of  a  sound 
religious  culture.  From  a  child  she  was  trained  up 
'  to  walk  in  the  way  she  should  go.'  The  scriptures 
were  presented  to  her  not  merely  to  be  committed  to 
memoiy,  but  to  be  understood,  believed,  and  obeyed. 
Her  Sabbaths  were  spent  either  in  the  house  of  God, 
mider  the  impressive  ministrations  of  her  grandfather 
and  father,  or  in  the  tranquil  and  improving  exercises 
of  domestic  piety.  Her  reading  was  select ;  and  what- 
ever taste  she  might  afterwards  acqvure  for  books  of  a 
light  and  questionable  character,  it  was  not  within  the 
precincts  of  the  manse  that  such  a  taste  was  formed 
or  such  a  practice  was  sanctioned.  The  literatm'e  of 
that  sacred  abode  was  distinguished  by  its  instructive 
and  useful  properties,  and  consisted  either  of  that 
strictly  religious  cast  which  powerfully  aids  in  the 
formation  of  godliness,  or  improves  the  mind  alike  in 
what  is  substantial  and  poUte.  Perhaps  there  might 
be  one  exception  to  this  general  rule.  About  this 
time  there  was  great  and  general  excitement  upon  the 


EAKLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      G5 

subject  of  Avliat  were  called  the  '  Waverley  Novels.' 
The  '  Great  UnkiioAvii,'  as  the  author  of  these  won- 
derful productions  was  then  designated,  had  struck 
out  an  entu'ely  new  path  for  himself,  and  imparted 
a  charm  and  novelty  to  works  of  fiction  which 
fascmated  for  a  time  all  classes  of  society.  The 
sickening  and  demoralising  state  of  the  preceding 
school  had  begmi  to  cloy  the  public  appetite,  and  to 
confine  the  lovers  of  romantic  nonsense  to  silly  women 
and  still  sillier  men.  But  when  the  classic  and  bril- 
liant, the  national  and  historic  fictions  of  Scott 
appeared,  the  whole  brood  of  panderers  to  the 
morbid  cra^dno-  for  such  emasculating  works  retired 
fi'om  the  arena,  and  resigned  to  him  the  undis- 
puted possession  of  the  wizard's  throne.  And  a 
powei*fal  spell  it  must  have  been  that  he  wielded  for 
a  while.  Perhaps  never  before  was  it  heard  of,  and 
never  since  has  it  been  known,  that  mere  novel-read- 
ing became  popular  among  that  class  of  society  re- 
markable for  its  regard  for  the  sobrieties  of  tiiith  in 
opposition  to  the  figments  of  poetical  or  prosaic  genius. 
Everybody  seemed  to  be  under  the  impression  that  it 
was  no  sin  to  be  acquainted  with  the  works  of  the 
author  of  Waverley ;  and  not  a  few,  even  among  seri- 
ous thiaking  people,  considered  it  a  mark  of  bad  taste 
not  to  have  perused  them.  The  father  of  Agnes — him- 
self an  admirer  of  the  productions  of  fine  genius,  and 
withal  a  hearty  lover  of  eveiytliing  national,  particu- 
larly if  it  breathed  the  air  of  his  native  Highlands — 


QQ  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

submitted  to  the  universal  mania,  and  received  into 
his  fjxmily  these  celebrated  productions  of  his  illustri- 
ous comitrjauan.  If  ever  novel-reading  became  inno- 
cuous, and  could  be  justified,  it  was  certainly  now. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  pleasant  to  have  it  to  state, 
that  ere  long  the  sting  of  the  serpent  was  discovered 
— the  poison  of  the  dainty  chahce  was  detected,  and 
the  spell  of  the  enchanter's  wand  was  broken.  Up  to 
the  jDublication  of  '  Old  Mortahty ' — in  other  respects 
the  most  marvellous  effort  of  Scott's  genius — no  alarm 
was  taken ;  but  when,  in  that  work,  the  character  of 
the  Scotch  Covenanters  was  held  up  to  ridicule  in 
profane  caricatures,  and  the  glorious  and  divine  cause 
for  which  our  forefiithers  fought,  bled,  and  died,  was 
misrepresented  and  maligned,  good  men  threw  fi*om 
them  with  shrinldng  disgust  the  impious  defamations. 
From  that  day  ISIr  Macfarlane  read  no  more  of  them, 
and  uttered,  on  every  convenient  opportunity,  his 
hearty  chsapprobation.  If,  after  this,  any  amiable 
regard  for  these  fictions  remained  among  rehgious 
people,  it  was  almost  entirely  removed  by  the  power- 
ful and  mianswerable  re^dew  of  the  obnoxious  pub- 
lication, by  Dr  M'Crie,  the  learned  biogi'apher  of 
Knox. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  parents  should  run 
the  risk  of  appearing  to  sanction  novel-reading  be- 
fore their  childi-en.  In  the  case  of  those  whose 
rehgious  principles  are  confirmed,  and  who  may 
quickly   take   the    alann   on    the  discoveiy  in    such 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADx^IOXITIOX.  67 

books  of  what  is  likely  to  iiijiu^e  either  morals  or 
piety,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  cast  aside  the  ob- 
noxious volume,  and,  it  may  be,  to  abandon  for  ever 
the  habit.  But  it  is  veiy  different  with  the  young  in 
general.  Then-  minds  are  seldom  on  the  alert  for 
what  is  ethically  wrong  in  the  pages  of  a  fascinating 
fiction ;  they  are  proverbially  veiy  susceptible  of  im- 
pressions which  outlive  the  period  of  juvenility,  and 
reluctantly,  if  ever,  surrender  a  passion  fed  upon  the 
luxiu'ious  in  fancy,  for  a  principle  enforced  by  the 
rigid  in  truth.  And  yet  how  common  is  the 
practice  of  novel-reading  among  parents,  and  of 
com'se  among  the  yomig !  That  the  mere  '  lovers 
of  pleasm-e'  should  indulge  in  such  a  sin,  may  not 
be  wondered  at ;  but  how  so  many  professing  '  lovers 
of  God'  should  do  so,  is  much  to  be  deplored. 
Dismal  and  disastrovis  have  been  the  results  to 
many  a  hopeful  child.  In  respect  of  novel-reacUng 
and  some  other  habits,  such  as  card-playing,  attend- 
ing theatres,  ball-rooms  and  race-com'ses,  there  seems 
to  be  an  impression  among  many  who  consider  them- 
selves pious,  that  these  occupy  a  kind  of  neutral 
ground  between  the  moral  and  the  vicious,  and  ought 
not  to  be  considered  as  a  test  of  character,  or  a 
prohibition  from  privilege.  Among  the  indeterminate 
evils,  as  moralists  describe  them,  they  may  be  placed ; 
but  certainly  they  mil  not  be  practised  by  any  who 
are  determined  to  be  rehgious.  The  tnily  earnest 
eschew  ysAih.  as  much  fear  '  the  shaking  off,  the  slow 


68  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

and  insensible  graduation '  of  what  constitutes  virtue 
or  \dce,  as  they  do  the  determinate  iniquity  itself.  Dr 
William  Symington  has  well  observed,  in  his  admir- 
able essay  on  the  amusements  of  youth,  that,  even  '  in 
reference  to  such  indeterminate  evils,  we  can  seldom  if 
ever  be  at  a  loss  to  bring  some  great  established  Bible 
principle  to  bear  upon  them.'  *  This  is  true  of  novel- 
reading.  The  novel,  strictly  so  called,  is  substantially 
immoral.  For  what  has  been  tenned  rehgious  novels, 
something  better  may  be  said ;  but  of  the  class  as  a 
whole  it  is  easy  to  prove  that  their  tendency  is  not 
good.  They  are  never  the  handmaids  of  ^-ital  godli- 
ness ;  and  even  such  of  them  as  claim  to  be  the 
pleaders  of  morality,  miserably  fail  of  their  object, 
and  often  stultify  or  destroy  the  special  vii'tue  which 
they  pretend  to  exalt  and  protect.  They  never 
address  man  as  a  fallen,  guilty,  and  immortal  being. 
They  uniformly  give  false  impressions  and  views  of 
life,  and  commission  then'  devourers  into  this  plain, 
matter-of-fact  world,  to  be  \dctims  of  disappomtment 
or  spectacles  of  indecision.  They  help  to  make  and 
keep  thousands  among  the  silliest  and  most  useless  of 
manldnd  and  womanldnd.  They  consume,  for  the 
most  ignoble  of  ends,  hours  and  years  of  precious 
time,  never  to  be  redeemed.  They  are  the  proper  and 
peculiar  food  of  worldly  and  ungodly  luinds,  and 
ridicide  the  plain  and  wholesome  nom'ishment  which 

*  Lectures  to  Young  Men  by  Ministers  of  various  Denominations, 
p.  97. 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.  69 

sober-mindedness  requii'es.  Tliey  create  a  strong 
disrelish  for  the  word  of  God,  and  for  books  that 
speak  to  man  in  the  spmt  of  '  the  Law  and  of  the 
testimony.'  They  are  sad  coolers  to  the  fervency  of 
devotion,  if  they  do  not  entirely  indispose  for  its  holy 
exercises  ;  and,  in  one  word,  they  stand  in  the  way  of 
the  conversion  of  the  soul,  by  occupying  and  gi'atify- 
ing  its  attention  far  away  from  those  parts  and  paths 
th.at  kindle  spmtual  concern,  and  lead  to  the  inquiry, 
'  What  must  I  do  to  be  saved  1 '  There  never  was  an 
eminently  pious  man  a  novel-reader. 

For  these  reasons,  Mr  Macfarlane  regretted  that  he 
had  ever  admitted  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  into  his 
famih^ ;  and,  on  the  occurrence  referred  to,  he  vetoed 
them  altogether.  But  the  taste  for  them  had  been 
formed  in  his  daughter's  mind,  and  long  after  he  had 
left  her  alone  in  this  world,  did  she  squander  time  and 
opportunities  in  the  indulgence;  not  that  she  ever  was 
what  is  understood  to  be  a  novel-reader,  but  that  she 
had  a  lildng  to  works  of  that  class  ;  and  occasionally, 
as  it  came  in  her  way,  the  romance  or  the  ch'ama  was 
found  Ipng  upon  her  table.  This  is  mentioned,  that 
faithfulness  may  be  maintained  in  the  naiTative  of  her 
life  and  death ;  and  it  will,  with  other  things,  help  to 
account  for  her  ha\'ing,  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
jiowei'fttl  incentives  to  vital  religion,  continued  up  to 
her  death-bed  in  an  unconverted  state.  As  the  in- 
terest of  the  subsequent  chapters  tiu'ns  mainly  upon 
this  view  of  her  character,  attention  is  requested  to 


70  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

it,  and  to  other   kindred   observations   that  may  be 
made. 

So  long  as  her  father  Kved,  Agnes  continued 
under  his  watchful  and  affectionate  control.  She  was 
ardently  attached  to  him,  and  made  it  her  business, 
though  as  yet  a  mere  gu'l,  to  contribute  to  his  com- 
fort. Nor  was  her  effort  ineffectual.  He  ever  saw  in 
her  the  image  of  one  whose  memory  neither  time  nor 
vicissitude  could  dislodge  fi'om  his  heart ;  and,  from 
her  opening  buds,  he  luxuriated  in  the  hope  of  enjoy- 
ing her  matiu'ed  excellences  as  the  shades  of  even 
descended  on  his  path.  While  there  was  nothing 
remarkable  in  her  natural  or  educational  acquire- 
ments, nor  even  in  her  religious  characteristics,  neither 
was  there  anything  to  diminish  the  affectionate  delight 
of  a  fond  parent  in  an  amiable  daughter.  He  died 
when  she  was  only  in  her  thirteenth  year ;  and,  had 
it  pleased  God  to  have  prolonged  his  hfe,  she  might, 
as  far  as  appearance  went,  have  at  an  earlier  period 
become  decidedly  pious. 

Immediately  after  her  father's  death,  in  April,  1823, 
Agnes  ceased  to  have  a  home  in  Dunfennlme.  The 
manse  where  she  had  seen  so  many  happy  days,  heard 
so  many  memorable  oracles,  and  marked  so  many  of 
the  goings  out  and  the  comings  in  of  God-fearing 
men,  must  now  be  left,  that  the  stranger  may  take 
possession.  The  day  of  her  departure  was  a  melan- 
choly one.  Too  young  to  reahse  the  loss  entailed  by 
such  a  change,  and  too  inexperienced  to  afflict  her 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      71 

soul  witli  the    anticipation  of  future  trials,  she  was 
not   unreasonably    cast    down.     But     she    was    far 
from   being   unconcerned.     The    dying    scene   of  a 
beloved   parent   was   too   fresh   in    her   recollection, 
and  the    associations  of  merry  childhood  and  open- 
ing life  were  too   touching   to   be  resigned   mthout 
a   sigh.     On    the    evening   before  she  departed,  she 
was    alone   in    her   bed-room,  from   the   windows  of 
which  she  looked  do^sai  upon  the  towers  of  the  old 
Gothic    Abbey,    where  was  lying  the  precious    dust 
of  her  parents,  and  upon  the  sacred  and  less  ostenta- 
tious ethfice  where  she  had  been  dedicated  to  God, 
and  had  become   acquainted   with    the  glad   tidings 
of  salvation.     And  were  her  meditations  this  even- 
ing  of  a   decidedly   pious    character?     If  she   her- 
self be   the  judge,   they   were    not.     In    afterwards 
alluding  to  this,  or  similar  incidents  in  her  life,  she 
invariably  characterised  them  as  made  up  rather  of 
impulses  springing  fi-om  affecting  reminiscences  than 
of   religious   thoughts    and   exercises.     Perhaps    she 
judged  severely.     To  know  that  she  was  bidding  a  last 
farewell  to  the  scenes  of  her  happy  childliood,  and 
about  to  enter  upon  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  her  life, 
not  one  Hne  of  which  even  her  lively  fancy  could  trace, 
was  of  itself,  independently  altogether  of  the  question 
of  religious  principles,  fitted  to  give  rise  to  melancholy 
forebodings.     How  eloquent    and  pathetic  are  these 
allusions    of  Dr    Chalmers  to    this   hardship  of  the 
children  of  the  manse,  when  death  has  taken  from 


72  THE  NIGHT  LAMP, 

them  him  whose  toil  was  their  substance,  and  wh^ose 
])rayers  were  their  inheritance  : — 

'  When  the  sons  and  the  daughters  of  clerg}Tnen  are 
left  to  go,  they  know  not  whither,  from  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  their  father's  dwelling,  never  were  poor  outcasts 
less  prepared,  by  the  education  and  the  habits  of  former 
years,  for  the  scowl  of  an  unpitying  world ;  nor  can  I 
fimu'e  a  drearier  and  more  aifectina;  contrast  than  that 
which  obtains  under  the  blissful  secuiity  of  then'  earher 
days,  and  the  dark  and  unshielded  condition  to  wliich 
the  hand  of  Pro^ddence  has  now  brought  them.  It  is 
not  necessary,  for  the  pru'pose  of  awakening  your 
sensibilities  on  this  subject,  to  dwell  upon  every  one 
circumstance  of  distress  which  enters  into  the  suffer- 
ings of  this  bereaved  family ;  or  to  tell  you  of  the 
many  friends  they  must  abandon,  and  the  many 
charms  of  that  peaceful  neighbourhood  which  they 
must  quit  for  ever.  But  when  they  look  abroad,  and 
survey  the  innumerable  beauties  wliich  the  God  of 
nature  has  scattered  so  profusely  around  them — when 
they  see  the  sun  throw  its  unclouded  splendoiu's  over 
the  whole  neighboui'hood — when,  on  the  fair  side  of 
tlie  year,  they  behold  the  smiling  aspect  of  the  comitiy, 
and  at  every  footstep  they  take,  some  flower  appears 
in  its  loveliness,  or  some  bu'd  offers  its  melody  to  de- 
light them — when  they  see  quietness  on  all  the  hills, 
and  eveiy  field  glowing  in  the  pride  and  luxmy  of 
vegetation — when  they  see  summer  throwuig  its  rich 
garment  over  this  goodly  scene  of  magnificence  and 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      73 

glory,  and  think,  in  the  bitterness  of  their  souls, 
that  this  is  the  last  smnmer  which  they  shall  ever 
witness  smiling  on  that  scene,  which  all  the  ties  of 
habit  and  of  affection  have  endeared  to  them — when 
this  thought,  melancholy  though  it  is,  is  lost  and  over- 
borne in  the  far  darker  melancholy  of  a  father  torn 
from  their  embrace,  and  a  helpless  family  left  to  find 
their  way  unprotected  and  alone  tlu'ough  the  lower- 
ing futurity  of  this  earthly  pilgrimage, — do  you 
wonder  that  their  feeling  hearts  should  be  ready  to 
lose  hold  of  the  promise,  that  He  who  decks  the  lily 
fair  in  floweiy  pride,  will  guide  them  in  safety  through 
the  world,  and  at  last  raise  all  who  believe  in  Him  to 
the  bloom  and  the  vigoiu'  of  immortality  ?  "  The 
flowers  of  the  field,  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin, 
yet  yom'  heavenly  Father  careth  for  them ;  and  how 
much  more  careth  He  for  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith  ! "  ' 
It  was  when  regarded  fi'om  the  confines  of  eternity, 
that  Agnes  entertained  severe  and  perhaps  just  im- 
pressions of  her  early  histoiy ;  and  it  is  possible  that 
the  contrast  which  she  was  enabled  then  to  discover 
between  the  mere  pensiveness  of  a  dreamy  melancholy, 
and  the  grander  and  more  severe  work  to  which  God, 
in  the  prospect  of  death,  appointed  her,  may  have 
induced  that  godly  jealousy  of  herself,  which  disposed 
her  to  conclude  that  her  Christianity  had  been  only  '  in 
name,'  and  not  'in  deed  and  in  truth.'  It  seems,  how- 
ever, quite  consistent  with  wdiat  for  a  time  w^ere  with 
her  cherished  emotions,  to  classify  her  feelings  in  now 


74  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

bidding  farewell  to  beloved  scenes  and  objects  rather 
with  the  sentimental  than  the  spiritual.  This  was  the 
vein  through  which  she  allowed  those  feelings  to  flow-, 
and  there  might  indeed  be  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  which 
they  hixuriated.  It  Avas,  however,  most  unsatisfactoiy ; 
for  while  it  enticed  her  mind  away  from  the  unromantic 
but  instructive  reflection  Avhicli  genuine  piety  would 
have  prompted,  it  indisposed  her  for  entering  upon  her 
future  lot  with  that  sober-mindedness  which  was  neces- 
sary to  reconciliation  with  the  will  of  God,  and  to  the 
perfomiance  of  the  new  duties  in  society  to  which  she 
was  })roceeding.  Hence  she  lost  the  opportunity — the 
precious  opportmiity — which  on  such  an  evening  was 
afforded  her  of  drawing  nearer  to  the  God  of  her 
fathers,  of  pleaduig  his  covenant  engagements,  and  of 
making  herself  over  to  Him  in  whom  '  the  fatherless 
findeth  mercy.'  She  stood  in  need  at  this  time  of  a 
wise,  a  pious,  and  a  s}Tinpathising  female  friend — and 
there  was,  no  doubt,  such  at  her  command;  but,  as 
she  afterw^ards  told,  she  had  no  inclination  to  vaabosom 
herself  to  any  one,  and  felt  a  kind  of  satisfaction  in 
brooding  over  what  she  then  considered  the  severities 
of  her  lot.  Allusion  is  here  made  to  this  peculiarity 
in  what  might  be  termed  her  rehgious  temperament, 
because  it  must  account  for  some  traits  of  character 
and  conduct  yet  to  be  exliibited.  We  may  date  from 
this  time,  her  occasional  proneness  to  indulge  in  rather 
moody  ^-iews  of  life,  and  to  invest  her  condition  in 
society  with  the  chilling  idea  of  solitariness,  combined 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      75 

with  dependence.  Slie  knew  that  her  father's  means 
had  been  too  hmited  to  enable  him  to  leave  a  com- 
petence for  the  education  and  support  of  herself  and 
brothers ;  and  that  thoiTgh  his  tender  consideration 
of  her  peculiar  claims  upon  him  had  provided  so  far 
for  her  own  maintenance  during  the  years  of  her 
minority,  yet  there  stretched  out  before  her  a  long, 
blank,  undefined  existence,  to  be  endured  rather 
than  enjoyed,  either  as  a  debtor  to  the  Idndness  of 
relatives,  or,  as  it  might  turn  out,  an  inmate  in  the 
house  of  the  stranger.  She  allowed  herself  to  meditate 
too  much  on  this  feature  in  her  lot ;  and  thus  accus- 
tomed her  mind  to  di-ink  from  the  miscellaneous 
cup  of  hope  and  fear,  of  pride  and  poverty,  rather 
than  from  the  coolmg,  cheering,  strengthening  wells 
of  salvation.  She  was  consequently  often  thirsting 
and  never  satisfied — often  grave,  and  seldom  joyftil — 
often  depressed  and  unsusceptible  of  consolation. 
This  account  of  Agnes  is  no  doubt  somewhat  ante- 
dated, and  more  properly  describes  her  mental  and 
moral  state  a  few  years  subsequently;  but  it  was 
now  that  this  peculiar  bias  in  her  feelings  and 
thoughts  was  made.  It  ^^as  in  this  state  of  feeling 
that  she  left  Dunfermhne  and  went  to  Edinburgh ; 
and  the  melancholy  thoiTglitfulness  of  this  evening's 
exercise  spread  itself  gradually  tlu'ough  her  mind, 
though  she  was  careftJ,  in  all  the  families  where 
she  resided,  to  keep  it  in  subjection,  and  as  much 
as  possible  out  of  view. 


76  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Dm-ing  her  residence  in  the    Scottish  metropoHs, 
she  prosecuted  her  education  with  dihgence ;  and,  as 
she  kneAV  not  what  God  might  yet  have  in  store  for 
her,  she  selected  the  best  of  teachers,  and  the  most 
useful    and   elegant    of  the   branches   which   young 
females  of  her  class  in  society,  and  of  her  prospects, 
usually  attend.     Her  progress  was  satisfactory;  but 
her  spirits  were  somewhat  low,  and  she,  for  various 
reasons,  requested  her  father's  trustees  to  remove  her 
to  some  other  seminary,  where  she  might  combine  the 
intellectual  mth  the    religious,  and   the   ornamental 
with  the  useful.     She  had  been    far  from  happy  in 
Edinbm'gh  diuing  the  winter  and  spring  of  1824.     It 
was  her  first  experience  of  the  homeless  and  the  orphan 
condition ;  and  she  had  not  yet  learned  that  necessaiy, 
difficidt,  and  divine  lesson  which   Paid  acquii*ed,  of 
beino;  content  in  whatsoever  situation  she  might  be. 
Perhaps  it  is  expecting  too  much  of  a  girl  of  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  in  her  cu-cumstances,  that  she  should 
all  at  once  settle  down  into  tranquil  resignation  to 
such  a  change ;  but  certainly  had  she  been  by  this 
time  genuinely  pious,    though    she    might  not  have 
brought  her  lot  to  her  mmd,  she  might  have  brought 
her  mind  to  her  lot.     Whatever  might  be  her  chief 
reasons,  she  earnestly  desired  a  change ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, in  autimm,  ]  824,  she  was  sent  to  Longridge 
manse,  in  the  southern  part  of  Linhthgowshu'e,  to  be 
under  the  care  and  tuition  of  the  amiable  and  accom- 
plished daughters  of  the  late  venerable  and  Kev.  Jolm 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADIIONITICN.  77 

Brown  of  Whitburn.  To  lier  this  was  not  only  a 
pleasing  but  an  im})ortant  change.  It  commenced  a 
new  era  in  her  bnef  hfe.  She  was  now  once  more — 
not  at  home  in  the  sense  of  the  word  which  Avas  most 
endearing  to  her,  but  assuredly  as  much  so  as  it  was 
possible  to  be,  away  from  one's  own  paternal  habita- 
tion. The  scenes  and  exercises  of  her  native  manse 
Avere  reproduced.  In  the  patriarchal  demeanour  of 
^Ir  BroAvn,  and  his  solicitude  for  the  spiritual  im- 
proA^ement  of  all  beneath  his  roof,  she  felt  herself 
again  among  familiar  and  beloA^ed  domestic  arrange- 
ments; in  the  tender  care  of  Mrs  BroAA'n  she  aa^s 
made  to  IuioaA',  what  she  may  be  said  not  to  liaAe 
known  for  a  long  time — a  mother's  affection  ;  in  the 
A-aluable  instruction  of  the  Misses  Brown  she  met  Avith 
more  than  mere  teaching — they  made  her  feel  as  if 
she  were  one  of  the  family,  and  superintended  her 
education  from  generous  and  ardent  attachment  to 
herself — while  from  the  other  young  ladies,  her  felloAA- 
boarders  in  the  seminary,  she  drcAA'  so  much  sj^inpatliA' 
and  kindly  interest  to  herself,  that  she  thought  for  a 
season  her  happiness  was  complete ;  and  most  a  s- 
suredly,  if  it  had  depended  solely  on  the  affectionate 
treatment  she  receiA^ed  from  the  family  at  Longridge, 
complete  it  must  lia\"e  been,  as  far  as,  in  such  a  AA-oi'ld 
as  this,  pure  blessedness  can  be  enjoyed.  But  the 
tendency  to  sadness  of  feeling  was  not  remoA'ed.  Ba' 
and  by  it  returned ;  and  though  she  confessed  that 
the  days  she  passed  there  were  among  the  happiest 


78  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

she  had  ever  known,  she  still  was  conscious  of  a  want 
which  no  earthly  goodness  could  siipply.  She  was  not 
yet  pious. 

The  local  situation  of  Loncn.'idcpe  is  not  of  itself  fitted 
to  induce  cheerfulness,  nor  does  it  contribute  materials 
to  engage  the  young  heart.  The  manse  and  chui'ch 
stand  alone  on  the  high  lands  of  a  veiy  miinteresting 
and  unpictviresque  country.  For  miles  and  miles 
around,  the  eye  is  scarcely  ever  relieved,  in  siu-vey- 
ing  the  almost  treeless  waste,  by  a  single  object  of 
interest ;  and  the  few  hmnble  cottagers  in  the  adjacent 
hamlet  were  just  sufficient  to  remind  them  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  manse  were  not  the  only  hmnan 
beings  in  the  world.  A  pleasing  and  somewhat  sin- 
gular stir  and  hum,  on  the  return  of  the  weekly  Sab- 
bath, alone  intruded  upon  the  monotony  of  the  scene. 
In  sun^e}ang  the  neiglibovu'hood  fi*om  the  heights  of 
Longridge,  one  could  scarcely  believe  that  there  was 
population  enough  to  occupy  the  vestiy  of  a  chui'ch ; 
and  yet,  long  before  the  hour  fixed  for  public  worship 
had  struck,  straggling  groups  of  farmers,  shepherds, 
cottars,  and  children,  w^ere  seen  coming  up  to  the 
house  of  the  Lord  from  eveiy  direction,  some  on  foot, 
others  on  horseback,  and  not  a  few  in  such  humble 
rural  conveyances  as  they  could  afford  to  employ. 
Before  the  minister  was  in  the  pulpit,  the  chiu'ch  was 
crow^ded.  And  well  it  might.  John  Beowt^  was 
the  preacher ! — a  name  revered  to  this  hour  in  every 
house  and  cot,  and  possessing  still  an  influence  favour- 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.      79 

able  to  evangelical  life  and  doctrine  over  that  large 
district  of  country ;  and  not  only  so,  but  wherever  he 
went  to  preach  the  gospel  of  God,  he  left  behind  him 
a  savoiu*  of  holiness  which  was  truly  edifying.     The 
son  of  the  great  and  good  Brown  of  Haddington,  he, 
no  doubt,  was  indebted  to  his  father's  celebrity  for  not 
a  little  of  the  respect  in  wliich  he  was  held ;  but  the 
beautiful  simplicity  and  piu'ity  of  his  own  life,  the 
rich  and  marrow  doctrines  which  his  lips  proclaimed, 
the  valuable  works  wliich  he  published  or  edited,  and 
the  fervent  zeal  he  manifested  in  the  various  benevo- 
lent and  christian  movements  of  his  time — for  he  was 
\^athal  a  man   of    public-spiritedness    and  activity — 
secured  for  him  an  amount  of  reverence,  and  love, 
and  influence,  which  in  our  times,  upon  the  whole, 
is  somewhat  rare.     Perhaps  there  might  be  more  sucli 
like  examples  of  venerated  and  beloved  clerg}anen,  if 
there  were  amongst  their  order  more  of  what  may  be 
called  living  to  and  with  God,  and  less  of  what  we 
characterise  as  living  in  and  for  the  world. 

Agnes  seemed  to  have  enjoyed  these  Sabbaths  ex- 
ceedingly ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  employed  them,  and  their  precious  means  of 
rehgious  improvement,  for  her  ultimate,  if  not  her 
present  spiritual  good.  For  nearly  two  years  she  had 
not  enjoyed  a  regular  attendance  on  the  christian 
ministry' — and  at  her  age,  this  was  indeed  a  loss ; 
but  now,  regularly  as  eveiy  Sabbath  dawned,  cUd  she 
go  up  to  the  courts  of  the  Lord  '  with  the  multitude 


80  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

that  kept  holiday.'  With  Mr  Brown's  pulpit  instmc- 
tions  she  was  satisfied,  and  often  dehghted.  She 
was  in  the  habit  of  taking  notes  of  his  sermons,  and 
of  readinfj  them  over  in  the  evenuio-  to  members  of 
the  family  and  her  favourite  companions.  Her 
general  conduct  and  industry  secured  the  marked 
approbation  of  the  Misses  Bro\\ai ;  but  this,  with  other 
semblances  of  a  pious  turn  of  mind,  most  of  all  en- 
deared her  to  them.  The  writer  once  ^dsited  Long- 
ridge  while  Agnes  was  there,  and  w^as  told  by  the 
family  that  she  excelled  her  companions  in  her  ready 
and  retentive  recollection  of  the  discoui'ses  she  heard, 
and  that  on  every  Sabbath  evening  she  was  pre- 
pared to  give  a  good  account  of  the  preacher's  per- 
formances. A  solitary  but  prized  specmien  of  her 
diligence  and  aptitude  in  this  respect  remains — a  very 
interesting  compendium  of  a  discourse  to  wliich  she 
had  listened  from  the  Rev.  Dr  Smith  of  Biggar  (the 
excellent  and  able  son-in-law  of  ISIr  Brown),  from 
these  words  m  Isaiah  xxxii.  2  :  '  And  a  man  shall 
be  as  an  hiding-place  from  the  A\dnd,  and  a  covert 
from  the  tempest ;  as  rivers  of  waters  in  a  dry  place ; 
as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land,' — 
precious  words,  which  in  after  years  and  tiying  scenes 
she  remembered,  and  which  were  sweet  and  refresh- 
ing to  her  as  '  cold  water  to  a  thirsty  soul.' 

From  her  esteemed  teachers  she  now  received  the 
elements  of  the  best  education.  Her  progress  was  not 
rapid  nor  striking,  but  sru'e  and  conservative ;  and  her 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.  81 

friends  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  ^vith  tlie  semi- 
nary and  its  sviccessfiil  superintendents.  Her  behaviour 
in  this  family  was  uniformly  proper,  and  even  contri- 
buted to  its  comfort  and  enjoyments.  The  barrenness 
of  the  lo.cality,  Avhich  so  circumscribed  their  out-door 
exercise  and  pleasm'es,  quickened  the  appetite  for 
in-door  pastime,  and  hence  every  element  that  added 
to  the  domestic  happiness  was  gratefully  and  perhaps 
miduly  appreciated.  It  might  have  been  so  with 
respect  to  the  esteem  in  which  Agnes  was  held. 
Wlien  sufficiently  on  her  guard  against  the  pensive 
habit  of  which  her  look  gave  indication  when  her 
mind  w\as  not  diverted  from  itself,  and  which  was  at 
once  laid  aside  when  her  interest  was  excited  by 
anything  striking  or  unusual,  she  would  become  one 
of  the  liveliest  and  most  amusing  of  companions. 
Indeed,  the  most  of  her  acquaintances  considered  her 
to  be  miiformly  of  this  disposition  :  hence  the  forma- 
tion at  Longridge  of  some  youthfal  female  friendships, 
which  she  retained  while  she  lived.  Mention  may 
be  made  specially  of  one  sweet  and  lovely  girl  who 
quickly  followed  Agnes  to  an  early  grave.  This 
was  Miss  Lockhart  Fairbafrn  Bro^vn,  the  adopted 
daughter  of  the  late  Dr  Thomas  Browai  of  Dalkeith. 
Then'  love  for  one  another  was  ardent,  and  their 
correspondence  in  after  life  evinced  that  it  had  been 
founded  in  sincere  admiration  of  each  other.  Miss 
Brown's  quahties  were  not  dazzling,  but  they  were 

substantial.     Her  piety  was  not  ostentatious,  but  it 
D  2 


82  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

was  genuine.  Her  accomplishments  were  not  super- 
ficial, and,  though  not  numerous,  prepared  her  for 
adorning  that  station  in  society  in  which  she  moved. 
Agnes  and  she  clung  to  each  other  as  sisters,  while 
they  lived,  and  when  the  call  to  die  was  given  to  the 
one,  the  other  came  oft  to  weep,  and  comfort,  and 
pray  with  her.  Agnes  was  first  in  glory,  but  Lock- 
hart  seems  to  have  been  first  'in  Christ.'  She  too, 
however,  is  now  also  in  glory,  being  suddenly  called 
to  the  'home  of  the  righteous'  when  in  the  hey-day 
of  hope,  and  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage.  '  They 
are  as  a  sleep :  in  the  morning  they  are  like  grass 
which  groweth  up.  In  the  morning  it  flourisheth 
and  groweth  up ;  in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down  and 
withereth.' 

It  was  dm'ing  Agnes'  residence  at  LongTidge  that 
symptoms  of  that  constitutional  weakness  appeared 
which  ultimately  cut  short  her  life.  From  what  she 
subsequently  said,  there  is  reason  to  fear,  that  fi:'om 
motives  alike  modest  and  dehcate,  she  concealed  much 
that  ought  to  have  been  told,  and  even  continued  to 
do  so  till  within  a  year  or  less  of  her  death.  Thus, 
when  dying,  she  told  her  aunt,  Mrs  Dewar,  '  that  she 
had  all  her  life  been  subject  to  bondage  through  fear  of 
death ' — that  she  had  passed  many  days  and  nights  in 
sore  bodily  pain,  and  had  sometimes  anticipated  an 
early  death  as  not  improbable.  Dimng  her  occasional 
ailments  at  Longridge,  she  received  every  possible 
attention  from   the    affectionate  family  there,  which 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.  83 

greatly  alleviated  her  trials.  But  advantage  Avas  also 
taken  of  her  complaint  to  fix  her  mind  on  religious 
subjects,  and  the  necessity  of  repentance  towards  Gotl, 
and  faith  towards  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  The  ques- 
tion arises,  then,  had  any  saving  and  spiritual  change 
now  come  upon  her  soul  ?  Had  these  chastisements  of 
her  heavenly  Father,  along  with  the  devout  and  holy 
discipline  and  teaching  of  the  manse,  been  blessed  for 
her  conversion  to  God  *?  Was  Agnes  as  yet  pious  ? 
The  ISHsses  Brown  considered  her  to  be  so.  She  bore 
her  afflictions  so  meekly  and  patiently — she  discharged 
her  religious  duties  so  cheerfully  and  regularly — she 
conducted  herself  in  the  family  with  so  much  christian 
courtesy  and  obligingness,  and  in  general  so  consis- 
tently with  what  was  wished  and  expected  of,  as  well 
as  promised  by  liei",  that  it  never  occuiTed  to  them 
to  question  it.  There  is  reason,  however,  to  douljt 
the  accuracy  of  their  estimate.  Agnes  herself  be- 
lieved she  had  not  been  pious — that  she  was  then 
and  there  in  an  unpardoned,  vuiconverted  state. 
Alas  !  it  is  often  rather  hastily  concluded  with  regard 
to  young  people  who  die  at  last  happily,  that  their 
hearts  must  have  been,  if  not  all  along,  yet  early, 
opened  by  the  Lord.  It  is  difficult  in  general  to 
decide  upon  the  reality  of  conversion ;  but  there  is 
much  reason  for  cau.tion  in  judging  of  its  having  been 
of  long  existence,  merely  because  the  death-bed  scenes 
indicate  the  presence  and  power  of  saving  faith.  It 
would  certainly  have  been  a  pleasant  duty  to  have  re- 


84  THE  NIGHT  LA3IP. 

corded  here  tlie  existence  of,  and  to  have  given  Agnes 
credit  for,  piety  even  from  an  earlier  period  of  lier 
life ;  but  the  truth  must  not  be  sacrificed  for  any  con- 
sideration, especially  when,  as  it  shall  be  seen,  there  are 
in  reserve  indications  of  a  worldly  and  gay  temper  in 
her  yet  to  be  noticed.  True,  some  may  be  disposed 
to  say  that  the  judgment  here  adopted  is  uncharitable, 
perhaps  censorious  and  som' ;  and  others  may  insinuate 
that  if  amiability  of  manners,  and  propriety  of  actions, 
and  external  conformity  to  rehgion,  based  on  extensive 
and  acciu'ate  knowledge  of  Bible  truths,  do  not  prove 
the  existence  of  piety,  to  not  a  few  who  take  the 
credit  of  it  must  that  credit  be  denied.  Possibly,  too, 
it  may  be  thought  that  the  memoirs  of  many  young 
ladies  who  have  died,  as  they  tell,  '  in  the  faith,'  con- 
tain rash  conclusions,  and  embalm  in  then'  glowing 
pages  mere  natural  amiableness  for  spiritual  regenera- 
tion, placing  in  their  niches  the  jDolished  marbles  of 
moral  philosophy  instead  of  the  '  li'vdng  stones'  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  If  the  pubhcation  of  this  Memoir  shoidd 
do  nothino-  more  than  direct  attention  to  this  dan<Ter 
of  mistaking,  in  the  intensity  of  bereaved  grief,  the 
chastened  tone  and  gentle  manners  of  a  life  that  pre- 
cedes an  early  death,  for  '  peace  with  God,'  and  for  the 
'  nund  that  was  in  Christ  Jesus,'  the  laboiu-  given  to 
its  preparation  cannot  be  in  vain.  And  if  the  pemsal 
of  its  pages  quicken  to  self-examination  and  behe%dng 
prayer  the  young,  who  are  fancying  themselves  con- 
verted rather  from  negative  than  positive  evidence — 


EARLY  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION.  Hf) 

rather  from  their  doing  no  evil  than  their  doing  much 
if  any  good — rather  from  their  own  merits,  than  from 
personal  union  to,  and  interest  in  mediatorial  right- 
eousness— in  that  case  there  will  be  reason  to  rejoice 
that  these  lines  have  fallen  to  some  '  in  pleasant 
places,'  and  found  for  them  a  '  goodly  heritage.'  May 
God  in  mercy  grant  it ! 

Ha\'ing  remained  for  about  three  years  in  Long- 
ridge,  Agnes  retm'ned  to  her  native  towai  in  1827,  in 
every  respect  improved,  except  in  the  matter  of  health. 
She  was  received  and  welcomed  into  the  house  of  her 
uncle,  Dr  Dewar,  to  be  for  some  time  under  his  pro- 
fessional care.  Often  chd  she  bless  God  for  such  a 
friend,  not  merely  because  of  his  high  and  deserved 
eminence  as  a  physician,  but  because  of  his  affectionate 
and  successfrd  efforts,  not  only  to  benefit  her  health, 
but  to  inform  and  enrich  her  mind.  He  and  her 
aunt  were  to  her  as  father  and  mother,  and  to  her 
dying  hour  did  she  hold  them  in  her  heart  of 
hearts.  They  deserved,  and  they  received  her  grati- 
tude. She  was  tinily  a  most  thankfril  creature,  and 
even  to  services  of  small  importance  she  rendered 
wai'm  returns. 


CHAPTER   lY 


E])z  JarciBElls  of  Etfe. 

'  My  God,  I  would  not  long  to  see 
My  fate  with  curious  eyes  — 
What  gloomy  lines  are  writ  for  me, 
Or  what  bright  scenes  may  rise. 
Thy  providence  unfolds  the  hook, 
And  makes  thy  counsels  shine; 
Each  opening  leaf  and  every  stroke 
Fulfils  some  deep  design.' 

Watts. 

Foe.  a  time  after  Agnes'  return  to  Dunfermline  it  was 
considered  prudent  to  forbid  severe  application  to  her 
favourite  branches  of  study.  Her  proficiency,  indeed, 
in  these  respects  was  at  least  equal  to  what  is  usually 
deemed  a  solid  education.  But  though  it  had  not 
been  so,  the  state  of  her  health  determined  the  ques- 
tion. Under  the  family  roof  of  Dr  and  Mrs  DeAvar 
she  was,  besides,  placed  in  cu'ciunstances  alike  favour- 
able to  bodily,  intellectual,  and  religious  improvement. 
The  medical  skill  of  her  uncle,  ere  long,  restored  her 
to  the  enjojanent  of  orchnaiy  health,  while  his  accom- 
plished mmd,  scientific  and  hterary  pui'suits,  and 
elegant  taste,  Avith  which  she  every  day  came  into 


THE  FArJiAVELLS  OF  LIFE.  87 

contact,  kept  alive  Avitliin  her  the  desire  after  know- 
ledge, and  greatly  contributed  to  her  mental  riches 
and   general  information.     None  could   be  a   better 
judge  of  what  class  of  books  were  best  fitted  to  fui- 
nisli  her  wath  the  most  useful  knowledge ;  and  the 
inteUigent  conversation  with  which,   in  mornmo;  or 
evening  houi's,  he  unifonnly  improved  his  presence 
with  his  family,   was  an   excellent  addition  to  this 
domestic  mode  of  enriching  all  who  could  appreciate 
and  use  the  privilege.     Her  aunt,  too,  was  in  this 
same  respect  of  great  advantage  to  her.    Of  a  soundly- 
educated  and  well-cultivated  mind,  with  fine  natural 
taste  and  hereditary  talent,  Mrs  Dewar  was  admu*ably 
qualified  to  superintend  the  training  of  her  interesting 
niece.     Nor  was  it  amono-  the  least  of  the  advantages 
Agnes  now  enjoyed,  that,  Avhile  useful  knowledge  was 
here  imparted,  '  the  most  excellent  knowledge  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ'  was  considered  and  enforced  as  of 
supreme  worth.     To  her  amit,  Agnes  was  deeply  in- 
debted  for  a  fine   exemplification  of  imostentatious 
piety,  and  a  most  judicious  mode  of  teaching  its  prin- 
ciples,  and  directing    attention  to  its   temporal  and 
eternal  rewards.     Of  this  she  was  very  sensible,  and 
spoke  of  her  obligations  when  the  only  return  she 
could   make   was   to   breathe   most    fervent   prayers 
for  a  blessing  on  her  and  hers.     That  truly  excellent 
lady,  very  soon  after  the   death  of  Agnes,  rejoined 
her  in  heaven.     To  her  also  was   appointed  a  long- 
course  of  suffering,  endured  with  most  touching  re- 


88  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

signation,  and  distinguished  by  the  highest  degree, 
if  not  of  an  assui'ed  certainty,  of  a  strong  and  in- 
tellectual faith.  Unlike  her  sister,  (the  mother  of 
Agnes,)  who  died  so  triumphantly,  Mrs  Dewar  met 
death  with  impressive  solemnity,  prepared  for  it 
with  holy  earnestness,  and  at  last  bowed  her  head 
to  its  stroke,  trusting.  Let  us  be  thankful  that 
our  acceptance  with  God  at  length  does  not  depend 
on  om"  triumphing,  but  on  oiu*  confiding  in  the 
cross.  It  is  nowhere  Miitten  that  they  are  blessed 
who  triumph,  but  it  is  often  Avritten,  'Blessed  is 
every  one  that  trusteth.^  The  gospel  of  the  matter 
is  this,  ^  He  wlio  helieveth  shall  he  saved  f  and  the 
Saviour  himself  admits  that  his  disciples  may  be  (not 
should  be)  of  '  little  faith ; '  nay,  that  there  even  may 
be  faith  of  the  size  of  'a  grain  of  mustard-seed.' 
D}dng  clu'istians  should  therefore  be  taught  to  depend 
for  comfort  upon  their  trust  in  the  atonement  of 
Cln-ist ;  and  such  comfort  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  im- 
part that  'peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing.' 

Excepting  occasional  visits  to  Edinburgh,  and  part  of 
a  winter  which  she  passed  there,  attending  some  of  the 
higher  branches  of  education,  she  sojourned  during 
the  most  part  of  the  inten-al  between  this  and  1829 
among  her  relatives  in  Dunfennline.  Having  recruited 
greatly  in  health,  she  about  this  time  received  and  ac- 
cepted a  kind  in%atation  to  pay  a  ^'isit  to  Mrs  Aber- 
crombie,    wife   of  the   late   well-known    author   and 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  89 

eminent  physician,  Di*  John  Abercrombie.  Bet^v{>en 
tliat  lady  and  Agnes'  fiither  a  long  ancfintimate  friend- 
ship had  existed.  She  was  a  native  of  Dunfermhne, 
and  had  been  brought  up  under  the  ministry  of  Dr 
Husband  and  Mr  Macfarlane.  Mrs  Abercrombie  and 
Mr  Macfarlane  con-esponded  frecpiently  as  friends, 
and  this  privilege  he  prized  as  one  of  his  chief  earthly 
enjoyments.  She  constituted  him,  while  he  lived,  the 
almoner  of  her  substantial  charities  to  such  aged  and 
infirm  servants  of  her  deceased  parents  as  had  survived 
them,  and  stood  in  need  of  help ;  and  whenever  any 
painful  case  came  in  his  way,  he  had  only  to  apply  to 
her,  and  he  never  applied  in  vain.  After  Mi*  Mac- 
farlane's  death,  Mrs  Abercrombie  contmued  her  re- 
gards for  his  family,  and  more  especially  interested 
herself  in  his  daughter.  During  her  sojourn  in 
York  Place,  Agnes  participated  in  the  elegant  and 
useftil  instructions  which  her  own  daughters  were  then 
receiving.  She  gained  their  respect,  especially  the 
sincere  friendship  of  one  of  them,  which  was  after- 
wards affectionately  manifested  at  the  bedside  of  the 
dying  oq^han.  Of  Dr  Abercrombie's  kind  and  valu- 
able interest  in  her,  there  will  be  occasion  afterwards 
to  speak. 

Having  finished  this  visit,  she  entered  the  educa- 
tional establishment  of  Miss  White,  Albany  Street, 
Edinburgh,  where  she  exerted  herself  to  great  advan- 
tage, and  made  rapid  progress.  She  never  forgot  the 
kind  attentions  which  she  received,  and  remembered 


90  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

the  period  of  h^j*  residence  in  this  seminary  with  cor- 
dial gratitude.     This  year's  appHcation  in  Edinburgh, 
however,  again  brought  on  a  tlireateninff  of  her  for- 
mer  complaints,  and  she  had  to  apply  once  more  to 
her  native  air,  and  her  kind  physician.     Her  eldest 
brother  had  by  this  time  taken  up  his  residence  in 
Dunfermline,  and  with  him  she  resided  for  the  greater 
part  of  1830.     It  was  now  that  the  ■v\i'iter,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  family  had  quitted  the  manse,  en- 
joyed her  society.     For  six  months  there  was  between 
them  uninterrupted  intercoui'se,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  closing  months  of  her  existence,  this  was 
the  most  interesting  period  of  his   associations  with 
her.     Throughout  that  winter  he  was  busily  engaged 
in  preparing  for  ordination  to  the  christian  ministry. 
To  this  event  she  looked  forward  with  lively  interest, 
as  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  then  take  up  her 
permanent  abode  with  him  in  the  manse  of  Kincar- 
dine.    A  gleam  of  hope  now  dawaied  u.pon  her  mind, 
that  at  length  she  should  have  a  home  to  her  content 
and  at  her  command.     The  effect  upon  her  spirits 
was  most  exhilarating.     It  formed  the  fi'equent  topic; 
of  conversation  during  the  long  dark  nights  of  that 
winter,    and  as  the  time  of  settlement  there  drew 
near,  her  tendency  to  sadness  was  apparently  over- 
come.    In  her  brother's  preliminary  studies  and  pre- 
parations  for    orchnation    she   manifested    the   most 
affectionate  concern,  encouraging  him  by  her  happy 
anticipations,  and  aiding  him  in  every  way  by  which 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  91 

she  could  alleviate  the  anxieties  consequent  upon 
such  an  important  prospect.  Conversation  upon  the 
sacred  responsibilities  of  the  pastoral  office  was  not 
imfrequent,  and  but  for  what  afterwards  occui'red,  the 
frame  of  her  mind  might  have  been  pronounced  alike 
devotional  and  sanctified.  With  an  occasional  jocular 
remark  on  her  sharing  with  him  in  some  of  the  minis- 
terial work  of  his  expected  charge,  she  did  not  conceal 
her  deep  earnestness  in  making  herself  acquainted 
with  such  duties  as  in  that  situation  she  might  with 
propriety  discharge.  In  this  she  was  quite  sincere. 
She  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  such  offices  of 
love  as  superintending  the  Sabbath  school,  visiting  the 
afflicted  and  mom-ning,  and  preparing  all  those  delicate 
acts  of  female  benevolence  after  which  a  generous 
nature  pants. 

There  was  one  with  whom  at  this  time  she  held 
sweet  intercourse,  and  for  whom  she  cherished  a 
sister's  affection.  Her  brother  in  Dmifermline,  with 
whom  she  hved,  had  recently  been  married,  and  for 
his  amiable  lady  she  at  once  prepared  a  place  in  her 
warm  heart.  Ah'eady,  however,  had  'the  worm  in  the 
bud'  appeared  in  her  interesting  sister-in-law.  She 
was  dpng,  and  she  knew  it  not.  Agnes  feared  that 
an  early  grave  was  to  be  her  appointment ;  and  though 
she  carefully  concealed  her  apprehensions,  she  never 
omitted  opportmiities  of  commending  religion  as  '  the 
one  thing  needful.'  This  Avas  another  school  to  which 
her  heavenly  Father  sent  her,  that  in  it  she  might 


92  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

learn  such  lessons  as  were  after  all  to  be  required  by 
herself  on  a  death-bed,  before  they  were  practised  by 
the  object  of  her  present  solicitude.  How  beautiful 
and  tender  is  the  care  of  Providence !  She  thought 
of  the  soul  of  her  sister,  and  was  at  the  same  time 
laying  up  treasure  for  her  own.  Agnes  had  lain  in 
her  grave  only  six  weeks  when  her  beloved  com- 
panion was  placed  by  her  side.  It  was  after  a  day  and 
diu"ing  a  night  of  sore  trouble,  preceded  by  many  days 
and  nights  of  weariness,  borne  \\'ith  much  christian 
patience  and  meekness,  that  this  yomig  mother  said, 
'  All  my  hope  is  in  Jesus,'  and  then  calmly  fell 
asleej)  in  his  bosom  :  '  They  were  lovely  and  pleasant 
in  their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  Avere  not 
divided.' 

It  has  been  noticed  that  Amies  was  sometimes  of  a 
pensive  habit  of  mind,  which  occasionally  passed  into 
a  kind  of  melancholy,  musing  about  herself  and  her 
future  lot.  Her  trust  in  the  God  of  her  fiithers  was  not 
yet  of  that  calm  and  tranquil  character  which  contri- 
butes to  the  peace  of  the  fatherless ;  she  was  now  and 
then  tossed  to  and  fi'o  with  fears  about,  not  her 
spiritual,  but  her  earthly  lot ;  and  as  she  was  very 
reserved  upon  that  subject,  the  state  of  her  feelings 
imparted  considerable  thoughtfulness,  and  even  an  air 
of  absence,  to  her  otherwise  winning  and  expressive 
face.  Occasionally,  however,  in  her  letters  to  one  of 
her  brothers,  she  hinted  at  the  subject,  but  always 
very  delicately,  though  sufficiently  intelligible  to  him. 


THE  FAREAVELLS  OF  LIFE.  93 

'  I  send  you,'  she  whites  in  one  letter,  '  your  gloves. 
They  are  as  neat  as  I  can  make  them,  but  a  double 
seam  never  looks  veiy  well.  I  am  sorry  I  have  stuck 
the  drawing  Avhich  I  was  domg  for  you,  and  will  be 
oblio;ed  to  beo;in  another.  The  faces  are  so  small,  I 
doubt  if  I  will  be  able  to  catch  the  expression.  I  may 
make  a  pretty  enough  picture,  however.  I  have  never 
received  the  long  letter  you  promised  me.  I  think  you 
might  send  it.  I  am  just  going  off  to  Eew,  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  with  dear  Isabella,  at  which  I  am  Aeiy 
much  delighted.  She  is  the  dearest  friend  I  have  on 
earth.  I  "will  tell  you  of  my  happiness  when  I  return, 
though  I  may  be  disappointed  in  this  expectation,  as 
lam  in  every  other.  If  I  had  only  good  health,  I  would 
be  happy  in  being  independent.  I  don't  think  I  ever 
can  be  happy  otherwise.  The  Doctor  thinks  I  may 
])e  quite  clear  of  my  complaints  in  a  year  or  two.  I 
sincerely  hope  so — then  I  may  be  happy ! '  In  another 
she  AATites,  '  I  am  astonished  you  never  write  to  me. 
When  I  was  at  Longi-idge,  you  had  fewer  opportunities 
than  now,  and  you  "wrote  to  me  oftener.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  I  weary  to  hear  from  you  wliile  here  in  Dun- 
fermlme ;  but  you  have  always  something  or  other  to 
do  rather  than  attend  to  me.  I  will  never  forget,  how- 
ever, the  happy  afternoons  I  have  spent  in  yom-  house 
in  Howe  Street.  These  were  the  happiest  days  I  ever 
had,  or,  I  dare  say,  ever  shall  have.  How  I  would 
value  an  afternoon  now,  when  I  might  have  you  for 
an  hour  or  two  to  myself  uninteiTupted  ;  but  I  need 


94  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

not  wish  for  Avhat  I  cannot  get.  Yet  I  would  feel 
happier  if  you  would  only  write  me  oftener.  Though 
I  am  a  bad  correspondent,  you  know  not  the  pleasure 
I  draw  from  yoiu'  epistles,  however  short.  Excuse 
this  rhapsody ;  I  cannot  help  it.  I  am  inclined  to 
throw  it  into  the  fire  and  -uTite  another,  but  I  tliink  it 
unfair  to  conceal  even  the  tlioughts  of  the  moment 
from  so  near  and  dear  a  fr'iend.  Give  my  love  to 
George  and  Andrew.  Kind  love  with  me  is  not  a  tiling 
of  course ;  you  must  tell  them.' 

From  rather  melancholy  moods  Agnes  got  entu'ely 
free  when  she  found  herself  at  home  in  the  house  of 
her  friends.  This  was  the  case  especially  when  she 
resided  for  any  length  of  time  at  B,ew,  in  Perthshire, 
where  dwelt  Mi's  Gillespie,  her  cousin,  and  who  had, 
from  the  day  of  her  mother's  death  to  that  of  her 
father's,  taken  the  charge  of  the  manse,  and  had,  in- 
deed, done  all  but  a  mother's  part  to  the  children  of 
her  venerated  micle.  Here  Agnes  let  loose  all  her 
natural  flow  of  warm  and  generous  feeling.  The 
retirement  of  the  place  was  a  pleasing  change  to  her, 
and  its  natru^al  beauties  were  transcendently  grand. 
The  gorgeous  scenery,  indeed,  which  lay  stretched  out 
before  her  far  and  near,  when  she  stood  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill  on  which  the  farm-house  of  E-ew  is  built,  is 
scarcely  to  be  equalled  even  in  Perthshire.  In  the 
valley  is  to  be  seen  and  heard  the  rapid  flow  of  the 
river  Teith,  unsurpassed  in  the  Highlands  for  its 
pictm-esque  course  and  shady  banks.     Immediately  on 


THE  FAKE  WELLS  OF  LIFE.  95 

tlie  right  is  the  fine  ruin  of  the  castle  of  Doiine,  on 
which, 

'  Dim  with  the  mist  of  years, 
Grey  flits  tlie  shade  of  power,' — 

in  contrast  with  the  sweet  and  tasteful  chiu'ch  and 
manse  of  her  own  and  her  father's  fi'iend,  Dr  Mac- 
kerrow,  of  Bridge  of  Teith,  which  stand  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  stream.  In  the  far  west  appear  the 
great  and  sublime  outlines  of  the  Trossachs,  made  im- 
mortal by  the  poetic  genius  of  the  author  of  the  '  Lady 
of  the  Lake.'  In  the  foreground,  beyond  the  fair 
demesne  of  Blair  Dru.mmond,  rises  that  wonder  of  the 
world,  '  a  craig  in  a  carse,'  the  seat  of  the  Craigforth 
family ;  slowly  passing  which  is  the  river  Forth,  whose 
channel  is  there  broadened  and  deepened  by  the  tribu- 
taries of  the  Teith  and  Allan  waters ;  while  in  tlie 
distance  beyond  are  lifted  up,  in  all  theu'  gi'andem*,  the 
towers  and  battlements  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Stir- 
ling. ]\Iany  a  time  and  oft  she  sat  with  her  work  or  her 
book  upon  the  table-land  at  Hew,  and  revelled  in  this 
grand  and  imposing  panorama,  chunking  in  those 
great  and  impro\  ing  thoughts  which  spring  from  the 
devout  contemplation  of  God  as  the  Creator.  She 
knew  that  his  msdom,  and  power,  and  goodness 
called  all  into  being ;  but  there  is  no  proof  that  then 
she  could  say,  '  My  Father  made  them  all.'  In  the 
dwelling  at  Eew,  also,  she  had  constantly  before  her 
one  of  the  best  specimens  of  the  old  Scotch  Covenan- 


96  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ter,  in  the  simple-minded  but  pious  farmer,  the  hus- 
band of  lier  cousin.  She  used  to  advert  to  his  regular 
religious  habits — austere  enough  some  might  think 
them — and  made  it  her  boast  that,  when  the  psalm  to 
the  good  old  tune  of '  Martyrs'  rose  from  his  domestic 
altar  with  the  rising  orb  of  day,  she  made  it  her  object 
to  form  one  of  the  worshipping  group  even  at  such 
an  early  hour.  Her  family  partialities,  too,  were 
pleasingly  gratified  by  visiting,  as  slie  occasionally  did, 
Erin,  the  birth-place  of  her  father,  and  the  scenes  of 
his  early  life,  which  were  all  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Yes,  at  Rew  she  was  indeed  cheerful  and  even  buoy- 
ant in  spirits ;  and  for  this  reason,  so  rare  in  her  short 
life,  the  writer  records  her  associations  with  it.  This 
was  her  last  ^dsit  to  that  lovely  spot ;  and  deeply  did 
her  kind  friends  who  tenanted  it,  and  all  their  house- 
hold, feel  her  departure.  Her  absence  created  a  blank 
which  could  not  be  supplied.  As  she  di'ove  off,  the 
tear  was  in  the  eye  of  her  '  dear  Isabella ; '  and  the 
somewhat  eirie  prayer  of  the  venerable  man  was  sent 
up  for  a  blessing  upon  her  from  the  '  orphan's  stay.' 

One  level}"  Sabbath  morning  in  August  of  the  same 
year  (1831),  a  young  lady,  apjiarently  in  the  bloom  of 
health,  was  seen  riding  alone  upon  the  high  road 
between  the  sea-girt  little  town  of  Culross  and  Kin- 
cardine-upon-the-Forth.  The  sun,  unclouded,  cast 
his  glowing  beams  upon  the  waters  of  that  noble  river. 
The  fields  were  ripe  unto  the  harvest.  The  merry 
lark  was  singing  in  the  air.     Nature,  so  profuse  in 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  97 

that  romantic  neighbourhood  of  all  that  can  gratify 
the  most  fastidious  lovers  of  her  charms,  seemed  to  the 
eye  and  ear  of  Piety  to  have  assumed  a  gayer  dress, 
and  to  have  prepared  her  most  bewitching  music  in 
homage  to  the  hallowed  day.  The  fair  rider  evidently 
enjoyed  the  scene ;  and,  as  the  sound  of  the  first  Sab- 
bath bell  rose  from  the  old  church  spire  far  down  upon 
the  beach,  and  was  wafted  along  the  thickly-wooded 
and  steep  demesnes  of  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Culross, 
she  was  aroused  from  her  meditations,  and,  giving  the 
bridle  to  her  pony,  she  fleetly  galloped  along  the  road, 
till  she  emerged  from  the  woods  that  skirt  the  lands  of 
Tulliallan  Castle.  Here  she  moderated  her  pace,  and 
beheld  in  admiration  the  magnificent  landscape  that 
burst  upon  her  view.  At  this  part  of  the  road  there 
is  a  sudden  and  gradual  descent  to  the  village  of  Kin- 
cardine, and  few  can  pass  that  way  without  being 
arrested  for  a  while  to  survey  the  scene.  Towards 
the  south-west  lies  the  fair  carse  of  Falkirk,  with  its 
fertile  fields  and  numerous  mansions.  The  Forth 
here  loses  its  appropriate  term,  'the  Frith,'  and 
now  assumes  its  river  aspect.  Gradually  narrowing 
as  the  eye  looks  to  the  west,  its  waters  are  now  seen 
in  serpentine  folds  to  roll  in  most  picturesque  wind- 
ings among  rich  and  cultivated  plains,  till  they  are 
lost  behind  the  stately  battlements  of  the  castle  of 
Stirling,  and  in  the  still  more  remote  and  sublime 
recesses  where  Benledi  and  Benlomond  rear  their 
cloud-kissing  peaks.     The  whole  panorama  is  closed 


98  T[IE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

in  upon  the  north  by  the  beautiful  and  extensive 
range  of  tlie  Ochil  mountains,  which  only  decline 
towards  the  vales  of  Perthshire  to  allow  the  rise 
and  reign  of  the  sterner  Grampians.  On  another 
day,  and  with  no  instant  care  pressing  upon  her  mind, 
the  young  equestrian  could  not  have  contented  her- 
self with  a  cursory  glance  over  such  a  ma})  of  natui'e's 
glorious  works.  Her  sketch-book  would  have  been 
used  to  enrich  its  pages  with  the  different  views.  She 
was,  however,  evidently  occupied  otherwise.  Her  eye 
rested  on  the  village  at  her  feet — it  searched  out  one 
particular  spot,  where  its  chvirch  modestly  rises  above 
the  humble  dwellings  of  its  inhabitants — and  then  and 
there  a  bright  gleam  of  joy  played  over  her  expressive 
countenance,  and  up  to  heaven  ascended  a  prayer, 
lioly  and  fervent  as  ever  passed  from  christian  maiden's 
heart.  The  remaining  mile  was  quickly  coursed,  and 
she  entered  the  villafre. 

The  morning  hymn  has  been  sung,  and  the  morn- 
ing prayer  has  been  offered  within  the  dwelling  of  one 
of  the  pastors.  He  has  retired  to  the  garden,  and  in  its 
sacred  seclusion  he  niminates  the  messages  of  mercy 
which  are  that  day  to  be  delivered  to  the  flock,  of 
whose  souls,  but  a  few  months  ago,  he  was  solemnly 
ordained  to  be  the  shepherd  and  bishop.  The  work 
is  as  yet  new  to  him,  and  laborious  are  his  efforts  to 
provide  the  weekly  bread  for  his  people,  that  they 
may  '  gi'ow  in  grace.'  Unexpectedly,  a  servant 
aimounces  to  him  that  a   lady   on   horseback  is    at 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  99 

the  gate.  Sui'[)rised  by  such  an  unexpected  and 
unwonted  call,  he  leaves  the  garden,  and  is  startled 
by  the  hearty  salutations  of  his  sister.  It  was  Agnes  ! 
She  had,  during  that  summer,  been  residing  with 
her  aunt,  Mrs  Dewar,  at  Luscar  House,  a  beauti- 
ful smnmer  residence  in  Fifeshire,  a  few  miles  to  the 
west  of  Dunfermline.  Having  ascertained  that  Kin- 
cardine was  within  an  easy  home's  ride,  she  had 
that  morning  resolved  to  worship  in  her  brother's 
church.  It  was  in  vain  that  her  aunt  and  others 
remonstrated  with  her  not  to  go,  or,  if  she  must, 
not  to  go  alone.  Entreaty  was  useless ;  she  had  set 
her  mind  upon  it,  and  before  they  were  aware,  she 
was  mounted  and  away.  It  appeared  to  him  strange 
then ;  it  appeared  to  him  stranger  that  day  twelve 
months.  It  was  her  first,  and  it  proved  her  last — her 
farewell  visit  to  him.  On  the  same  day  of  August,  in 
the  following  year,  she  died ;  and  she  had  come  but 
to  look  upon  that  anticipated  home,  and  to  hear  for 
once  in  that  sanctuary  her  brother's  voice  proclaiming 
the  oi'acles  of  God.  Had  the  veil  been  withdrawn,  and 
the  winding  up  of  the  year  been  disclosed,  it  would 
not  have  been  for  either  of  them  such  a  happy  occa- 
sion. The  text  and  the  subject  of  that  afternoon's 
meditations  sadly  corresponded  with  the  solemn  work 
which  a  year  afterwards  was  appointed  to  them  both. 
The  sermon  was  founded  upon  these  words  in  Psalm 
xxxvii. :  '  Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the  up- 
right :  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace.'     Though  her 


100  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

morning's  ride  had  brought  on  a  severe  headache,  she 
attended  divine  service  forenoon  and  afternoon,  and 
thus  by  a  providential  arrangement,  she  received  warn- 
ing and  instruction  against  tlie  day  of  her  own  de- 
cease. The  evening  of  that  Sabbath  was  appropriated 
to  sacred  reading  and  conversation ;  they  thought  and 
said  to  each  other,  that  soon  thus  they  should  together 
be  employed,  and  they  regarded  this  as  the  forerunner 
and  foretaste  of  many  happy,  holy  days  and  evenings 
of  the  Lord  in  that  beautiful  place.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, all  unmingled  joy.  Whether  it  was  from  the 
effects  of  her  headache,  or  whether  from  some  sadden- 
ing anticipations  of  what  was  at  hand,  cannot  be  told, 
but  as  the  evening  advanced,  she  became  pensive,  and 
less  disposed  to  converse.  When  silence  was  occa- 
sionally broken,  the  topics  alluded  to  were  the  days  of 
childhood,  the  dying  scenes  of  parents,  her  subsequent 
homeless  and  often  cheerless  years,  and  the  necessity 
of  religion  to  a  peaceful  latter  end.  Upon  this  last 
subject  she  was  more  inclined  to  be  a  listener  than  a 
speaker ;  and  lier  remarks  were  such  as  to  reflect  upon 
her  own  sincerity  in  making  a  christian  profession. 
She  retired  early  to  rest,  being  somewhat  overcome 
with  the  extra  fatigues  of  the  day.  On  the  forenoon 
of  Monday  she  took  leave  of  the  spot  to  which  she 
expected  ere  long  to  return  for  permanent  residence. 
Her  brother  accompanied  her  so  far  on  the  road  to- 
wards Luscar  House,  and  they  parted.  She  had  come 
to  his  manse  according  to  a  long  ]iromise ;  but  her  visit 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  101 

was  short,  and  it  was  never  repeated.  He  remembers 
still  his  melancholy  feelings  as,  from  the  heights  above 
the  village,  he  stood  watching  the  progress  of  Agnes 
as  she  cantered  along,  occasionally  turning  round  to 
salute  him,  till  an  abrupt  turning  in  the  road  hid  her 
from  his  view.  What  a  mercy  it  is  that  we  do  not 
know  'what  a  day  may  bring  forth!'  How  foolish, 
amid  such  an  everlasting  succession  of  vicissitudes, 
for  sinful,  mourning  man  to  desire  a  vision  of  the 
future !  Let  him  only  have  his  wish  for  one  moment, 
and  speedily  would  he  pray  to  have  the  impression 
effaced  from  his  memory.  Deep  wisdom  and  bound- 
less pity  lie  in  these  words  of  our  Lord :  '  Take  there- 
fore no  thought  of  the  morrow,  for  the  morrow  shall 
take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself.     Sufficient 

UNTO  THE  DAT  IS  THE  EVIL  THEREOF.'  * 

Pier  abode  at  Luscar  was  a  happy  providence  for 
Agnes.  Her  health  was  improved.  As  she  daily 
rambled  among  its  finely-wooded  and  undulating 
scenery,  her  spirits  became  joyful,  and  to  all  the  out 
and  i/i-door  exercises  of  the  country  she  devoted  herself 
with  unusual  cheerfulness  and  vigour.  It  now  seemed 
that  her  bodily  infirmities  had  taken  flight,  and  that  a 
long  season  of  good  and  even  robust  health  was  before 
her.  The  imddy  cheek,  the  mirthfid  eye,  the  elastic 
step,  and  the  bounding  air,  told  of  restored  and  con- 
firmed health  ;  and  oft  did  the  clear  and  hearty  laugh  of 
the  lovely  maiden,  as  she  gaily  sported  with  her  cousins 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  cLap.  iv. 


102  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

and  their  visitors  among  the  trees  of  the  neighbouring 
forest,  proclaim  that  in  her  heart  grief  had  no  seat, 
nor  sadness  any  sway.  Upon  the  whole,  these  ap- 
pearances were  truthful.  But  she  had,  notwithstand- 
ing, her  moments  of  foreboding  even  here,  which,  it 
may  be,  did  not  so  entirely  engage  her  mind  upon 
the  subject  of  vital  religion  as  might  have  been 
wished,  but  which  in  some  degree  held  within  limits 
the  exuberance  and  flow  of  her  ardent  tempera- 
ment. A  circumstance  which  deeply  interested  her 
partly  accounted  for  this :  One  of  her  brothers  had 
fallen  into  rather  poor  health,  and  had  come  to  breathe 
the  bracing  air,  and  luxuriate  in  the  fair  scener}^  of 
Luscar.  Between  them  there  had  been  growing  of  late 
a  very  strong  attachment.  To  his  house  in  Edinburgh 
she  had  often  resorted,  when  pursuing  her  education 
there — every  Saturday,  indeed,  was  passed  under  his 
roof.  She  had  her  will  with  him  in  everything,  and 
his  greatest  delight  was  to  scheme  for  her  pleasure, 
and  gratify  her  wishes.  Delicacy  perhaps  forbids 
more,  but  the  reader  will  excuse  this  much  before  he 
has  finished  the  coming  record.  It  was  now  her  turn 
to  enact  the  generous,  and  contribute  to  his  pleasure. 
Anxiety  about  his  recovery  for  a  time  cast  a  shade 
over  her  mind,  which,  however,  disappeared  as  he  be- 
came convalescent.  In  nursing  him  she  had  plenty  of 
scope  for  the  exercise  of  her  kind  and  obliging  dispo- 
sition, and  by  her  devoted  and  unceasing  attentions 
she  was  deepening  and  confirming  in  his  bosom  an 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  103 

affection  wliicli,  ere  many  months  had  fled,  was  tested 
by  his  incessant  vigiUmce  at  her  own  djdng  pillow. 
One  of  the  favourite  amusements  at  Luscar  was  music, 
of  which  she  was  raptm'ously  fond,  and  in  which  slie 
was  a  fair  adept.  To  gratify  him,  she  entered  him  as 
a  pupil,  and  commenced  to  teach  him  to  play  some  of 
her  favourite  airs  on  the  piano.  There  was  one  in  par- 
ticular to  which  she  had  recently  become  very  partial, 
and  which  she  was  almost  every  day  either  singing  or 
playing.  She  insisted  on  his  learning  it  first,  nor  did 
she  resign  her  task  till  she  had  accomplished  her  object. 
Often  since  have  these  sweet  lines,  and  the  plaintive 
music  to  which  they  are  set,  been  remembered  in  their 
associations  with  that  summer  at  Luscar.  They  seem 
to  be  prophetic.     The  piece  is  entitled- — 

THE  LAST  LAT  OF  MARY  STUART. 

*  From  yon  lone  tower  the  midnight  bell 

Sounds  sad  and  heavily ; 
And  from  his  bower  the  screeching  owl 

Sends  forth  a  dreary  cry. 

'  The  night  wind  wails,  and  mocks  each  sigh 

That  struggles  from  my  breast ; 
And  Grief  hath  wept  her  fountains  dry, 

And  only  death  can  give  me  rest. 

'  Soon  I  shall  leave  thee,  land  of  sorrow  ; 

Soon  this  fleeting  earth  resign. 
Welcome  orb  that  gilds  the  morrow, 

Thou  wilt  light  me  to  my  shrine. 


104  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  Doomed  by  foes,  by  friends  deserted, 

Wliat  can  soothe  my  exiled  breast — 
"Where  can  flee  the  broken-hearted — 

Wlaere  the  weary  spirit  rest  ? 

'  Fare-thee-well,  thou  land  of  sorrow  ! 

Not  with  tears  from  thee  I  part ; 
Not  with  thee  bloomed  love's  first  flower, 

Though  thou  once  possessed  my  heart. 

'  For  my  wrongs  let  others  chide  thee, 

Since  with  me  no  hate  can  dwell. 
Soon  the  vault  of  death  will  hide  me ; 

Land  of  sorrow,  fare-thee-well.' 

We,  creatures  of  a  day,  are  oft  sporting  with  misery 
when  we  think  only  of  pastime  or  profit.  In  the  cup 
of  the  flower  we  admii'e,  there  is  poison — on  the  rose 
we  smell,  there  is  a  thorn — in  the  glee  we  sing,  there  is 
the  note  of  the  coronach — in  the  smile  that  gladdens  us, 
there  is  the  shade  of  Death,  and  in  the  merry  dance  of 
life  is  heard  the  solemn  tread  of  his  equal  foot.  Truly 
'  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death.'  '  O  that  we  were 
wise ;  that  we  understood  this ;  that  we  would  consider 
our  latter  end !'  Lord,  teach  us  to  'join  trembling 
with  our  mirth.'  Whether  any  presentiment  of  what 
was  approaching  was  upon  her  mind  cannot  be  ascer- 
tained, but  certainly  such  coincidences  in  her  story  are 
remarkable.  Little  did  either  of  these  two  at  that 
time  consider  the  end  of  it  all ;  for  at  that  time,  alas ! 
little  beyond  the  externals  of  religion  engaged  their 
thoughts.     This  was  but  one  of  the  majiy  songs  ^vith 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  105 

Avhich  they  beguiled  the  aiitmnn  eves  in  the  drawing- 
room  at  Liiscar : — 

'  Of  many  a  stanza,  this  alone 
Has  'scaped  oblivion — like  the  one 
Stray  fragment  of  a  wreck,  that,  thruwn 
With  the  lost  vessel's  name  ashore, 
Tells  who  they  were  that  live  no  more.' 

At  the  'fall  of  the  leaf  Agnes  accompanied  this 
brother  to  Edinburgh,  to  pass  the  winter  in  his  house. 
She  never  had  been  so  well  in  health  or  so  comfort- 
able in  her  feelings  and  hopes,  and  by  the  following 
spring  she  decided  that  she  should  make  the  manse  of 
Kincardine  her  home. 

Previously  to  her  leaving  Fifeshire  at  this  time,  she 
had  taken  the  important  step  of  connecting  herself 
with  the  membership  of  the  christian  church.  This 
was  a  matter  which  had  given  her  for  a  long  time 
serious  concern — '  afraid  to  go  forward  lest  she  shoidd 
go  wTong,'  she  had  afflicted  her  spirit  not  a  little  as  to 
the  point  of  duty.  She  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  system  of  evangelical  truth,  and  all  her  pre- 
dilections were  in  favour  of  a  public  confession  of 
the  Saviour.  She  was  unconscious  of  any  scepticism 
tainting  or  stinting  her  creed ;  her  character  was  as 
high  as  it  could  be  for  moral  beauty,  and  not  a  little 
could  be  said  in  favour  of  her  having  felt  the  power  of 
the  truth  in  her  heart  and  conscience.  She  was  full 
of  most  amiable  dispositions,    the  exercise  of  which 

£2 


106  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

brought  to  her  the  blessing  of  the  widow  and  the 
orphan.  She  was  regular  in  private  devotions — 
searched  the  scriptures  daily — ^was  oft  in  prayer,  and 
she  thousht  that  she  was  glad  when  it  was  said 
unto  her,  'Let  us  go  up  luito  the  house  of  the 
Lord.'  Withal  she  had  a  desire  to  be  in  communion  ; 
she  acknowledged  the  claims  of  the  Saviour  upon 
her  heart,  her  hand,  and  life ;  and  what  more,  it 
may  be  asked,  was  requisite  ?  How  many  that  are 
in  external  comm\inion  with  the  church  have  not 
one-half  of  her  qualifications !  True,  lamentably 
true ;  but  something  far  more  important  than  all  this 
was  needed — her  conversion  to  God  had  not  as  yet, 
according  to  her  own  subsequent  testimony,  taken 
place.  Li  her  heart  much  of  the  love  of  the  world 
held  sway,  and  her  love  to  Christ  was,  as  she  said, 
a  fancy,  not  a  reality.'  The  excellent  clergyman,* 
however,  to  whom  she  made  known  her  wish,  was 
most  conscientious  in  unfolding  to  her  the  nature  and 
design  of  the  holy  ordinance  of  the  Supper,  as  well  as 
the  kind  and  degree  of  that  personal  worthiness  which 
was  indispensably  necessary  to  a  true  and  proper  fel- 
lowship in  the  sacrament.  Agnes  weighed  the  question 
long  and  prayerfully,  and  concluded  that  it  was  not 
her  duty  to  delay  until  she  had  assurance  of  her 
reconciliation  to  God  by  faith  in  his  Son.  She  there- 
fore, for  the  first  time,  became  a  partaker  of  the  Lord's 

*  The  Rev.  John  Law,  of  St  Margaret's  Church,   DunfermUne,  now 
of  Innerleithen,  Peeblesshire. 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  107 

Supper  within  St  Margaret's  Church,  in  her  native 
town. 

It  is  indeed  most  painful  to  be  under  the  necessity 
of  questioning  the  propriety  of  tliis  step ;  but  if  her 
OAvn  personal  convictions  be  the  test,  there  are 
reasons  for  doing  so.  The  language  of  a  place  at  tlie 
Lord's  table  is  this :  '  I  have  decided  for  Christ.  I 
have  seen  my  need  of  him  as  a  Saviour  from  the 
guilt,  the  condemnation,  the  love,  the  power,  the 
miseries  of  sin.  I  have  heard  his  kindly  words, 
"  Come  unto  ??i^,"  and  I  have  come ;  "  Cast  thy 
burden  "  iipon  me,  and  I  have  cast  it ;  "  Kiss  me,  the 
Son,''^  and  I  have  kissed  him.  Having  taken  this 
Saviour  for  my  Saviour,  I  hereby  avouch  myself  to 
be  his  servant  and  his  property,  and  bind  myself 
before  all  his  people  to  take  up  his  cross  and  follow 
him,  and  him  only,  all  the  days  of  my  life.'  Now, 
such  language  as  this  certainly  implies,  whether  the 
communicant  mean  it  or  not,  that  he  has  been  born 
again,  that  the  great  and  saving  change  called  'the 
w^ashing  of  regeneration,  and  the  renewng  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,'  has  actually  taken  place,  and  that  the 
justifying  righteousness  of  Jesus  Christ,  as  the  '  best 
robe,'  has  been  brought  forth,  and,  by  the  command 
of  God,  been  'put  onJ  In  every  case  of  approach  to 
the  Lord's  table,  therefore,  where  this  conversion  has 
not  been  accomplished,  the  language  quoted  is  either 
that  of  hypocrisy,  or  superstition,  or  ignorance,  or 
formality.     It  can  be  hypocritical,  and  is  so,  when  the 


108  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

person  knows  it  to  be  untrue ;  it  can  be  superstitious, 
and  is  so,  when  the  excitement  of  mere  slavish' fear 
leads  to  its  adoption ;  it  can  be  ignorant,  and  is  so, 
when  the  proper  ideas  and  responsibilities  connected 
with  its  employment  are  not  before  because  not  in 
the  mind ;  and  it  can  be,  and  is  formal  when  the 
prevailing  motive  to  become  thus  externally  connected 
with  a  church  is  just  to  be  like  other  people,  or,  as  it 
is  said,  '  to  be  in  the  fashion.^ 

Sucli  being  the  state  of  the  argument,  it  is  mani- 
fest that  the  step  should  never  be  taken  by  any  who 
are  not  at  least  quite  conscious  that  neither  to  for- 
malism, nor  ignorance,  nor  superstition,  nor  hypocrisy 
can  their  desire  to  communicate  be  ascribed ;  and 
there  is  no  difficulty  up  to  this  point  which  an  honest 
inquirer  may  not  soon  overcome.  This,  however,  is  a 
mere  negative  encouragement.  Having  reached  com- 
fortably this  conclusion,  the  examination  into  self 
must  take  in  a  wader  range  of  strictly  religious 
experience.  Such  questions  as  Christ  himself  pro- 
poses cannot  be  considered  extreme.  The  catechumen 
should  be  prepared  to  answer,  in  some  measure 
positively,  the  following  questions :  '  Dost  thou  believe 
on  the  Son  of  God  V  '  Lovest  thou  me  ?'  '  Lovest 
thou  me  more  than  these  V  And  he  should  be  willing, 
and  feel  himself  prepared  to  comply  with  these 
cognate  duties :  '  Take  up  the  cross  and  follow  me ;' 
'  Keep  my  commandments  ;'  '  Do  Avhat  I  bid  you :' 
'  Be    not  weary  in   well-doing ;'    '  Be  steadfast   and 


THE  FAREWELLS  OP  LIFE.  109 

immoveable,  always  abounding  in  the  work  of  the 
Lord ;'  '  Crucify  the  flesh,  with  its  lusts  and  affec- 
tions;' 'Love  not  the  world,  nor  the  things  that  are 
in  the  world ;'  '  Seek  those  things  which  are  above, 
where  Christ  sitteth  on  the  right  hand  of  God ;'  '  Be 
faithful  unto  death ;'  '  Honour  the  Lord  with  thy 
substance,  and  with  the  first-fruits  of  all  thine  in- 
crease ;'  and,  '  Go  unto  all  the  world,  and  preach  the 
gospel  to  every  creature.' 

How  many  thousands  are  there  in  the  nominal 
membership  of  the  churches  of  these  lands,  who 
cannot  conscientiously  answer  such  questions  in  the 
affirmative,  and  whose  undisguised  worldly  life  proves 
that  the  idea  of  conforming  to  such  requirements  is  a 
stranger  to  their  bosoms !  There  never  was  a  more 
serious  need  than  at  present  for  inculcating  upon  men 
the  great  sin  of  unworthy  communicating.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  say  whether  the  almost  simultaneous  rush  to 
the  Lord's  table,  which  characterises  some  quarters  of 
the  country,  or  the  cold  and  studied  neglect  of  the 
ordinance,  which  obtains  in  others,  is  the  most  lament- 
able state  of  things.  In  the  one  case,  hypocrisy  is  at 
a  premium  in  the  church,  and  consequently  the  church 
is  barren  of  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness — 
multitudes  cherish,  and  die,  and  are  lost  in  mere  self- 
delusion.  In  the  other,  spiritual  death  hes  uncovered, 
and  depraved  human  nature  is  not  dressed  up  so  as  to 
deceive  men  into  the  idea  of  its  having  received  the 
element  of  religion  and  the  place  of  christian  disciple- 


110  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ship — multitudes,  therefore,  are  prevented  from  living 
in  systematic  contempt  of  the  cross,  and  die,  but  not 
to  be  condemned  for  merely  saying,  ' Lord,  Lord' 
Their  punishment  must  no  doubt  be  dreadful,  but 
their  sin  has  not  been  so  heinous  and  aggravated.  In 
establishing,  therefore,  the  proper  test  of  a  christian 
state,  there  is  a  propriety,  on  the  one  hand,  in  not 
demanding  the  unhesitating  expression  of  our  assur- 
ance, and,  on  the  other,  in  not  being  lax  in  our 
admissions.  By  insisting  on  the  first,  many  of  God's 
people  are  prevented  from  coming  to  the  ordinance ; 
and  by  practising  the  second,  many  who  are  not  his 
people  come  only  to  profane  it.  The  safe  path  is  the 
middle  one,  into  which  it  is  highly  probable  we  induce 
comparatively  few  formalists,  and  nearly  all  who  have 
really  believed,  and  from  which,  at  the  same  time,  we 
exclude  none  but  those  who  have  only  a  '  name  to  live.' 
But  what  is  this  middle  path  ?  The  question 
is  not  only  somewhat  difficult  to  answer,  but  even 
when  the  path  is  obsen^ed  and  understood,  there  is 
great  difficulty  in  getting  into  it.  It  is,  in  this  re- 
spect, exactly  like  religion  itself — it  has  a  'strait 
gate'  and  a  '  narrow  way.'  For  example,  it  tells  us 
that,  in  order  to  be  genuine  belicAers,  we  must  have 
the  knowledge  of  christian  truth,  and  the  assent  of  the 
mind  to  that  truth  as  divine ;  and  then  it  tells  us  that 
this  knowledge  is  not  faith — that  a  man  may  know 
all  about  Christ,  and  not  be  in  Christ — that  he  may 
be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  Clrrist's  principles, 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  Ill 

and  be  able,  with  glowing  eloquence,  to  speak  of  his 
beauty,  his  love,  and  his  gi^ace,  and  yet  be  in  the  '  gall 
of  bitterness,  and  in  the  bond  of  iniquity.'  It  tells  us 
that  a  confession  of  the  Lord  Jesus  with  the  mouth 
must  be  made,  and  at  the  same  time  warns  us  that 
such  a  confession  is  not  faith — that  profession  is  not 
principle — and  that  any  man  of  ordinary  tact  may 
pawn  himself  on  the  church  as  a  believer,  and  yet  be 
no  more  of  a  christian  than  what  the  subscription  Mitli 
the  pen  or  the  word  of  the  lip  may  make  him  ;  and  that 
all  this  may  be  the  case  when  there  is  no  intention  to 
deceive,  but  only  when  the  dangerous  repose  of  for- 
malism is  indulged  in.  It  tells  us  that  the  heart  and 
its  affections  must  be  all  moved  towards  and  ifixed  on 
Christ,  and  then  denies  that  the  mere  excitement  of 
the  feelings  is  a  proof  of  the  loving  soul — that  many 
natural  men  have  been  moved  even  to  tears  by  the 
recital  of  the  sufferings  of  the  '  man  of  sorrows' — that 
as  a  well-told  tale,  or  the  spirit  of  romance  working  in 
the  chapters  of  an  interesting  fiction,  produces  upon 
heated  imaginations  pathetic  impressions — so  may 
some  be  excited  by  the  mere  scenery  of  the  gospel 
narrative,  which,  as  it  passes  in  its  mysterious  gi'an- 
deui'  before  their  eyes,  calls  forth  a  sickly  sentimen- 
talism,  without  necessarily  constraining  them  to  iden- 
tify themselves  with  what  they  hear,  or  appropriate  to 
their  own  souls  the  atonement ;  and  that  this  faith,  if 
faith  it  may  be  called,  is  only  tantamount  to  the  shift- 
ing interest  wherewith  the  lovers  of  theatrical  repre- 


112  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

sentations  witness  the  pompous  shows  of  the  immoral 
stage,  and  the  suspicious  illustrations  of  the  histrionic 
art — ^just  as  Agrippa  of  old  was  'almost  persuaded  to 
be  a  christian,'  or  as  Felix  trembled  for  the  moment, 
mider  the  stern  and  awful  expositions  of  the  great 
apostle.  Now  it  is  confessedly  difficult  to  guide 
the  inquiring  mind,  especially  of  yovmg  professors, 
through  these  incontro^-ertible  positions,  so  as  to  dis- 
cover to  them  their  oaaii  true  state  and  character. 
Yet  such  is  plauily  duty,  and  the  middle  path  lies 
exactly  in  demanding  that  amount  of  christian  know- 
ledge which  is  necessary  as  the  gromid^vork  of  saving 
faith,  in  connection  with  that  degree  of  sacred  impres- 
sion wdiich  a  humble  but  sincere  inquirer  must  be 
conscious  of,  if  ti'ue  contrition  for  sin  exists,  and 
genuine  confidence  in  Christ  has  been  at  all  in  exer- 
cise. It  does  not  appear  necessary  to  insist  upon  the 
necessity  of  the  outward  significations  of  a  sober, 
righteous,  and  godly  life ;  these  are  of  course  indis- 
pensable— not  as  certain  proofs  of  the  regenerated 
state,  but  as  evidence  that  the  profession  made  is  not 
a  palpable  hoax.  When  tests  of  this  class  are  applied 
by  christian  pastors,  it  seems  to  be  then*  duty  to  act 
accordingly — to  admit  if  they  get  the  required  satis- 
faction, to  reject  if  they  do  not. 

Tried  by  such  a  standard,  it  was  right  and  proper 
that  Agnes  should  have  received  the  pri\'ilege  of  eoni- 
munion.  No  pastor  could  have  been  justified  in  doing 
otherwise  in  such  a  case  as  hers ;  for  if  ever  charity 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  113 

should  have  ample  scope,  it  is  with  the  young  in  her 
circumstances.  True,  to  be  lax  and  indiscriminate  in 
judging,  may  tempt  the  yovmg  postulant  to  pawn  a 
fatal  deception  upon  himself;  but  to  be  rigid  and  over- 
scrupulous, may  quench  the  kindling  fire  or  crush  the 
opening  bud.  How  truthfully  does  the  excellent  Mr 
Adkins  of  Southampton  represent  this  view,  in  his 
beautiful  memorial  of  Miss  Raitt ! — '  Especially,'  he 
says,  'is  a  scriptural  participation  of  the  Lord's 
Supper  beneficial  to  those  who,  in  early  life,  yield 
themselves  to  God.  The  soldiers  of  Caesar  never  felt 
themselves  so  determined  to  advance  as  when  they 
had  passed  the  Kubicon ;  and  the  youthful  champion 
of  the  cross,  having  committed  himself,  by  an  overt  act, 
to  a  great  cause,  feels  that  there  is  no  alternative  left 
to  him  but  to  go  forward.  He  has  put  his  hand  to 
the  plough,  and  he  must  not  look  back ;  he  has  lifted 
his  hand  to  the  Lord,  and  he  cannot  go  back ;  the 
vows  of  the  Lord  are  upon  him,  and  what  in  others 
would  be  only  an  act  of  transgression,  would  in  him 
be  a  species  of  sacrilege — the  profanation  of  a  sacred 
thing.  These  solemn  considerations  furnish  him  with 
weighty  motives  to  holy  vigilance,  earnest  prayer,  and 
strenuous  exertion  :  a  visible  line  of  demarcation  being 
placed  between  him  and  the  world,  he  is  guarded  against 
sinful  conformity,  debasing  associations,  and  unscrip- 
tural  alliances ;  and  being  planted  early  in  the  house 
of  the  Lord,  he  flourishes  in  the  courts  of  our  God.'  * 
*  Memorial  of  Miss  Henrietta  C.  Raitt,  by  Rev.  T.  Adkins,  p.  59. 


114  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

The  winter  months  of  1831  and  1832  were  for  tlie 
most  part  spent  by  Agnes  in  her  brother's  house  in 
Edinburgh.  Her  good  health  continued,  and  her 
heart  appeared  to  be  happy.  She  now  enjoyed  the 
society  of  those  young  ladies  whose  acquaintance  she 
had  made  in  the  different  boarding-schools  she  had 
attended,  and  who  were  resident  in  that  metropolis. 
She  also  kept  up  an  epistolary  correspondence  with 
others  of  them  at  a  distance.  What  was  the  general 
character  of  her  letters  is  unknown ;  but  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  the  subject  of  religious  experience  did  not 
occupy  much  (if  any)  space  in  them  ;  more  especially 
if  the  conjecture  may  rest  upon  the  manner  of  her 
intercourse  with  her  resident  companions.  It  was  in 
every  respect  amiable,  affectionate,  and  elegant,  but 
not  at  all  decidedly  or  even  distantly  pious ;  and  yet 
her  young  friends  were  all  like  herself,  of  known  excel- 
lence and  christian  pretensions,  and  some  of  them  of 
undeniable  godliness,  as  we  shall  see.  In  examining 
such  of  her  letters  as  still  exist,  we  look  in  vain  for 
those  allusions  and  observations  which  mark  the  heart 
that  is  thoroughly  devoted  to  God ;  and  there  are, 
hei-e  and  there,  hints  which  tempt  the  reader  to  wonder 
whether  indeed  she  had  become  a  child  of  God.  For 
example :  she  had  gone  over  to  Fife  to  attend  a  ball 
which  was  held  in  Dunfermline  about  mid-winter,  con- 
cerning which  she  writes — '  We  had  a  delightful  party 
last  night.  I  need  not  give  you  an  account  of  it,  as  I 
can  do  that  when  I  return.     It  was  three  o'clock  in  the 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  115 

morning  before  we  broke  up,  and  I  enjoyed  myself  very 
much  ;  indeed,  we  had  dehghtful  dancing.'  The  letter 
from  which  this  extract  is  taken  is  dated  '  Sunday.' 
In  another  letter  she  says — 'Perhaps  I  might  have 
persuaded  you  to  take  me  to  hear  Kean  the  tragedian, 
which  is  my  highest  wish  with  regard  to  actors.  If  I 
could  only  see  him  once  in  tragedy,  I  would  not  care 
though  I  never  entered  the  theatre  again ;  but  I  am 
very  sorry  that  I  have  not  that  hope.'  The  entire 
contents  of  another  note  to  a  friend  are  these : — 
'  N.B. — Nous  allons  au  theatre  ce  soir.'  Again  :  'Allow 
me  to  wish  you  many  happy  returns  of  the  month  of 

January.  I  was  at  a  grand  dinner  party  at  Mr  B 's 

on  Cliristmas-day ;  and  had  a  party  of  gentle- 
men on  New-year's-day.  Give  my  kind  love  to  John, 
George,  and  Andrew.'  Again  :  '  I  have  returned 
from  Largo,  where  I  enjoyed  myself  very  much,  and 
went  and  saw  the  house  where  Robinson  Crusoe  was 
born,  and  his  chest,  and  the  cap  which  he  made  when 
in  Juan  Fernandez.  It  is  a  beautiful  place.'  Again  : 
'  I  really  do  not  think  I  deserve  the  character  of  a 
gossip ;  if  I  did,  I  might  perhaps  write  you  oftener 
and  longer  letters.  But  even  though  I  were  a  gossip, 
Dunfermline  gossip  is  not  worth  retailing.  Every 
day  passes  alike  here ;  with  me  there  is  no  variety, 
and  therefore  I  have  no  news  to  communicate. 
But  do  you  tell  me  in  your  next  if  there  were 
any  persons  of  my  acquaintance  at  the  Mireside 
affair,  and  what  kind  of  a   "set  off"  it  w^as.     You 


116  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

must  have  heard  of  cousin  John's  death.  James 
had  a  letter  the  night  after,  requesting  some  of  us 
to  go  west  to  the  funeral.  It  is  very  late,  and  I 
must  close.' 

In  these  and  other  letters,  we  search  for,  without 
finding,  such  plain  and  self-evident  reflections  as,  to  a 
mind  but  moderately  engaged  with  religion,  could  not 
fail  to  have  occurred;  and  though  the  references 
quoted  are  by  no  means  of  any  importance  in  them- 
selves, yet,  as  indicative  of  a  spiritual  idiosyncracy, 
they  are  not  without  their  value.  Written  about  the 
time  of  declining  health,  of  the  death  of  relatives,  of 
her  becoming  a  member  of  the  church,  of  the  recur- 
rence of  seasons  of  the  year  when  a  pious  mind  is 
prone  to  solemn  reflection,  and  addressed  many  of 
them  to  very  intimate  and  sincerely  religious  friends, 
we  regret  their  total  barrenness  of  all  serious  refer- 
ences.  NotAvithstanding,  it  is  proper  to  put  in  a 
caveat  here,  lest  injustice  be  done  to  her.  While  it  is 
and  must  be  true  that  '  out  of  the  abundance  of  the 
heart  the  mouth  speaketh,'  it  does  not  follow  that 
every  abundant  heart  must  necessarily  relieve  itself  by 
mere  speech.  Christian  biography  proves,  by  many 
fine  illustrations,  the  ver\^  opposite.  Constitutional 
temperament  has  a  great  deal  to  say  even  in  judging 
of  the  work  of  the  Spirit  in  the  believer;  in  some, 
religion  becomes  transparent  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  and  it  sparkles  in  all  they  say  and  do ;  their  very 
bodily  members  seem  instinct  with  piety,  so  that  what 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  117 

was  affirmed  of  the  eloquence  of  Whitfielcl  seems 
descriptive  of  their  fervour — 

'  A^ividi  vultus,  vividi  ocnli,  vividi  manus,  denique  omnia  vivida.' 

But  there  are  others  who,  retaining  their  original 
'  natviral  turn,'  are  shy  and  diffident  upon  the  subject 
of  their  personal  union  Avith  Christ,  and  rarely,  if  ever, 
introduce  either  it  or  kindred  topics  into  conversation, 
Avhether  written  or  oral.  There  are  besides  adventi- 
tious circumstances  which  in  a  great  measure  regu- 
late one's  habits  in  this  matter.  If  placed  in  the  centre 
of  a  happy  circle  of  beloved  relatives,  all  eloquent  of 
the  Redeemer's  praise,  and  accustomed  to  season 
almost  every  conversation  with  the  salt  of  his  religion, 
the  young  disciple  is  more  likely  to  be  imbued  with 
the  same  spirit ;  but  if  cast  upon  the  world,  and  made 
to  live  among  strangers,  however  good  and  kind,  and 
denied  the  blessed  advantage  of  a  pious  mother's  or 
even  sister's  society,  it  ought  not  to  be  decided  against 
the  piety  of  the  person  if  he  or  she  become  upon  such 
a  subject  rather  taciturn  and  retiring.  It  was  thus 
with  Agnes.  And  while  we  would  be  far,  in  the  face 
of  what  she  afterwai'ds  affirmed  of  herself,  from  insist- 
ing upon  her  having  been  at  this  time  a  truly  regene- 
]-ated  person,  neither  would  we  rashly  conclude  that 
she  was  regardless  of  the  'one  thing  needful.'  She 
was  not.  On  the  contrary,  to  all  appearance,  she 
walked  as  worthy  of  the  christian  profession  she  made, 


118  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

as  thousands  of  whose  personal  piety  it  would  be  sin- 
ful to  entertain  the  smallest  suspicion. 

Agnes  unquestionably  was  fond  of  society  and 
amusements ;  and  in  this  perhaps  indicated  more  than 
in  anything  else  her  want  of  a  decidedly  pious  heart. 
The  metropolis  afforded  her  abundance  of  both,  and 
she  did  not  hesitate  to  indulge  herself  when  it  was  in 
her  power  to  do  so.  There  was,  however,  no  excess  of 
indulgence  ;  she  had  the  good  sense,  and  we  hope  the 
good  principle  within  her,  which  restrained  her  from 
even  an  approach  to  it.  While  enjo\^ng  herself  vastly 
with  many  of  her  young  friends  who  now  participated 
with  her  in  the  delights  of  reunion,  a  check,  which 
was  felt  to  be  of  a  very  disagreeable  natui*e,  was  put 
to  her  comfort  and  pleasures.  This  was  occasioned 
by  the  post  bringing  to  her  one  morning  the  following 
anonymous  letter : — 

'  My  dear  Miss  Macfaelane, — Be  Avise  and  con- 
sider ;  perhaps  the  cholera  may  be  ordained  to  strike 
you.  Are  you  one  who  has  believed  on  the  Almighty 
Savioiu',  and  to  whom  death  has  no  teiTors  ?  Look 
into  youi'  own  heart,  and  see  if  you  can  answer  this 
question  in  the  affirmative.  If  you  can,  you  are  happy. 
Even  though  the  scourge  should  ^dsit  you,  you  have 
no  reason  to  be  alanned.  Jesus  your  Saviour  ever 
liveth,  and  those  who  sleep  in  Him  shall  awake  to 
behold  his  gloiy.  Think  of  the  friends  you  have  now 
in  glory;  and  O,  what  an  awful  thought  to  think  of  see- 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  119 

ing  those  dear  relations  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Saviour, 
while  yon  are  on  the  left !  Your  are  doubtless  the  child 
of  many  prayers  ;  you  can  say  with  the  poet : — 

"  My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  throned  powers,  and  rulers  of  the  earth. 
No ;  higher  still  my  fond  pretensions  rise — 
The  child  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies." 

And  would  you  not  wish  to  meet  your  parents  in 
heaven,  never  to  be  parted "?  Yoii  are  an  oqilian, 
but  if  God  is  your  Father,  what  have  you  to  fear  ? 
Seek  above  all  things  to  secure  yoiu'  interest  in  Jesus  ; 
without  this  all  that  earth  can  bestow  is  utterly  un- 
availing. 

'  Excuse  the  plainness  of  these  few  remarks,  and 
believe  me  your  sincere,  though  unknown,  well- 
wisher.' 

For  two  or  three  weeks  this  letter  annoyed  her  ex- 
ceedingly. She  was  irritated  at  it.  She  was  angry 
at  it.  She  guessed  over  and  over  again  who  the 
writer  might  be — veiy  properly  condemned  the  prac- 
tice of  writing  anonymous  letters — hoped  she  would 
discover  the  writer — and  at  all  events,  in  the  mean- 
time she  would  try  to  banish  from  her  thoughts  the 
disagreeable  feelin2;s  it  had  occasioned.  It  is  doubtful 
if  she  succeeded  in  this.  It  ever  and  anon  came 
atliAvart  her  vision,  and  remained,  as  the  handwriting 
on  the  wall  of  Belshazzar's  palace,  to  inculcate  mo- 
deration and  seriousness. 


120  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Agnes,  at  this  period,  evidently  belonged  to  that 
class  of  young  and  well-educated  females,  to  whom 
the  epithet  romantic  is,  in  the  sense  least  offensive, 
applicable  ;  not  that  in  her  mental  constitvition 
there  was  any  excess  of  those  vain  thoughts  by 
which  the  class  is  distinguished,  but  that,  in  all 
likelihood  luiknown  to  herself,  she  was  the  v\dlling 
victim  of  a  morbid  sentimentalism.  Thus,  she  took 
somewhat  discoloured  views  of  life ;  and  though  very 
far  from  entertaining  improper  opinions  upon  the 
subject  of  religion,  she  certainly  had  not  yet  discerned 
it  to  be  that  pure  and  spiritual  thing  which  it  really 
is.  She  was  never  heard  to  utter  one  word  that 
could  disparage  it,  though  she  did  not  hesitate,  as 
occasion  offered,  to  characterise  as  pharisaical  a  good 
deal  of  what  passed  current  for  genuine  piety.  Hence 
some  might,  and  perhaps  some  did,  consider  her  own 
sincerity  in  the  matter  rather  questionable.  But,  to 
use  the  language  of  one  of  her  most  beloved  and 
intimate  friends — 'Agnes  was  no  hypocrite.  She 
often  dared  think  aloud,  when  others  more  cunning 
were  silent ;  thus  drawing  censure  upon  herself, 
while  they  escaped.  Though  sometimes  tempted  by 
the  world's  gay  flowers  to  deviate  from  the  "  narrow 
way,"  she  never  plucked  them  in  peace  of  mind.' 
With  regard  to  her  religious  e^vj^erie/fce,  some  time 
before  her  last  illness  commenced,  the  same  lady 
thus  writes  :  '  I  remarked  that  a  long  time  before  her 
death    she    did    not    enjoy    peace   in    believing.     I 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  121 

remember  that  on  the  evening  of  one  communion 
Sabbath  in  Bristo  Church,  Agnes  and  I  retired  after 
dinner  to  a  room  by  ourselves.  She  unbosomed 
herself  to  me.  She  told  me  that  she  was  far  from 
being  happy,  and  that  one  cause  of  her  unhappiness 
was,  that  she  had  not  felt  at  liberty  to  communicate 
that  day,  from  having  been  of  late  too  gay  and 
worldly-minded.  In  the  course  of  conversation  she 
said :  "  Is  it  not  a  solemn  thing  to  think,  that  if  we 
are  not  elected  we  cannot  be  saved?"  I  did  not 
know  well  what  to  reply,  but  answered  just  as  I 
felt,  that  we  did  not  know  but  that  we  might  be 
elected ;  and  at  all  events,  that  even  though  we  were 
not  saved  at  last,  the  happiest  life  to  lead  in  this 
world  was  the  christian  one.  I  shall  not  easily  forget 
her  abrupt  and  bright  look  when,  after  some  conver- 
sation, she  said,  "Jane,  you  have  made  me  happy 
again  ;  and  if  I  should  become  unhappy,  the  thought 
of  this  moment  will  restore  me."  I  have  often 
thought  that  novel-reading  took  away  her  peace  of 
mind.  Naturally  clever,  romantic,  nay  even  en- 
thusiastic, no  wonder  though  such  food  made  her 
exclaim  one  day,  "  I  think  I  was  born  for  something 
else  than  what  I  am  I "  During  the  last  months  of 
Agnes's  life  I  was  in  Wiltshire.  She  sent  me  several 
messages,  and  the  last  one  was  an  expression  of  "  her 
hope  that  we  should  meet  again  in  a  better  land.'"  * 
It  has  been  noticed  that  during  this  winter's  re- 
*  Letter  to  the  Author  from  Mrs  K . 


122  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

sidence  in  Edinburgh  she  went  across  to  Dunfermline 
to  be  present  at  a  balh  This  was  her  last  visit  to 
Fife.  To  what  it  is  to  be  traced,  it  is  difficult  to  say, 
but  it  was  noticed  that  she  was  unusually  sad.  In 
one  house  especially,  she  remarked  to  the  lady  as  she 
was  leaving — 

'  Mrs  B ,  farewell :  it  is  probable  that  I  may 

never  return  to  Dunfermline  in  life.' 

'  If  you  do  return,'  said  Mrs  B ,  '  I  hope  you 

will  not  be  such  a  stranger  here  as  you  have  been.' 

'  I  will  not,'  she  replied,  '  if  God  spare  me.^ 

'  It  is  not  usual  for  you.  Miss  Macfarlane,'  rejoined 

Mrs  B ,  'to  express  yourself  in  this  serious  and 

guarded  manner.' 

'  That  may  be  so,'  she  resumed,  '  but  we  should 
always  so  speak  when  anticipating  futurity.' 

Her  words  were  prophetic — she  was  brought  back 
in  the  sable  hearse. 

The  writer  has  a  vivid  recollection  of  his  sister 
and  her  demeanour  during  this  visit  to  their  native 
town.  She  apprised  him  of  her  intention  to  spend  a 
few  days  there,  and  invited  him  to  meet  with  her. 
The  time  was  chiefly  occupied  in  making  calls  on  old 
family  friends,  and  in  short  excursions  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood. They  visited  their  old  familiar  haunts,  and 
spent  a  portion  of  the  last  afternoon  in  the  beautiful 
grounds  of  Pitteucrieff,*  and  the  adjacent  abbey, 
with  its  churchyard.     In  the  latter  they  remained  a 

*  Seat  of  James  Hunt,  Esq. 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  123 

long  while  meditating  and  conversing  among  the 
tombs  of  their  kindred.  Her  cast  of  mind  during  the 
day  and  the  evening  was  decidedly  melancholy.  She 
looked  as  if  burdened  with  some  heavy  thought,  and 
she  talked  as  if  some  presentiments  of  what  was  at 
hand  had  taken  possession  of  her  mind.  Early  in  the 
morning  of  the  following  day — it  was  a  cold,  rainy, 
and  dismal  December  morning — they  left  Dunferm- 
line together.  The  stage  coach  had  scarcely  passed 
the  suburbs  of  the  town  when  Agnes  became  suddenly 
sick.  Notwithstanding  the  uncomfortable  state  of  the 
weather,  she  was  obliged  to  leave  the  interior  to  take 
her  seat  on  the  outside.  This  afforded  her  an  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  her  farewell  look  at  the  town,  and  of 
viewing  all  the  well-known  scenery  between  Dun- 
fermline and  Edinburgh.  Of  that  portion  of  it  lying 
between  South  Queensferry  and  the  metropolis,  she 
was  much  enamoured,  and  bleak  and  wintrv  though 
nature  looked,  she  noticed  and  chatted  about  its 
numerous  picturesque  charms.  At  any  season  of  the 
year,  indeed,  the  scenery  at  this  part  of  the  great 
north  road  is  singularly  fine.  From  the  high 
ground  immediately  above  the  small  seaport  town 
which  takes  its  name  from  the  ferry,  there  opens 
upon  the  view  to  the  westward  a  most  magnificent 
panorama.  The  traveller  looks  down  upon  the  ample 
waters  of  the  broad-bosomed  Forth,  stretching  up- 
wards to  its  source  among  the  mountains,  separating 
the  great  lochs  of  Lomond  and  Katrine,  and  east- 


124  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ward   towards    tlie    German    Ocean,  into   which    its 
waters  are  delivered.     There  is  one  peculiarity  in  the 
scene    which    readily    arrests    attention — the    quick 
narrowing  of  the  Forth  immediately  underneath,  from 
a  breadth  above  and   below  of  five  or  six  miles  to 
scarcely  two  miles.     This  is  the  famous  ferry  already 
referred  to,  which  connects  the  north  and  the  south  of 
Scotland,  and  which  takes  its  name  from  the  historical 
tradition  that  Queen  Margaret,  the  tutelary  saint  of 
Dunferndine,  was  accustomed  to  be  ferried  across  at 
this  spot,  on  her  way  to  and  from  her  palace  in  Fife. 
In    the  centre    of  this  strait  is  to  be  seen   a  small 
turretted  island,  which  in  ancient  times  protected  by 
its  battery  the  passage  ;  a  little  further  up,  and  on  the 
north  coast,  rises  the  venerable  ruins  of  Kosyth  Castle, 
whither   sometimes   fled   for  safety   the    unfortunate 
Mary    Queen    of  Scots ;    while  a  few    miles   to  the 
north,   upon  a  rising  eminence,    stands  the  ancient 
town    of   Dunfermline,    with    its  abbey    towers    and 
spires,  and  wide-spread  dwellings.     Leaving  this  part 
of  the  road  behind  him,  the  traveller  passes  on  through 
the  finely-wooded  possessions  of  the  lordship  of  Rose- 
berry,  and  crossing  the  Cramond  Bridge,  next  enters 
upon   the    extensive   domains   of  Barn  ton.      As    he 
approaches  the  capital,   his  attentiori  is  called   to  a 
romantic  residence  on  the  right  hand  side  of  the  road, 
beautifully  situated  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.     This  is 
the   Castle  of  Craigcrook,  the  property  of  the   late 
distinguished  Lord  Jeffrey.     When  enjoying  this  view 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  125 

of  the  classic  retreat  of  the  great  critic,  it  was  not  un- 
usual for  Agnes  and  her  friends  to  express  their  wonder 
if  a  being  of  such  fine  taste  and  elegant  mind  should 
be  permitted  to  enter  upon  eternity  without  undergo- 
ing the  one  great  change — the  second  birth — without 
which  no  man  can  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
Jeffrey  has  by  this  time  discovered  for  himself  the 
awful  secret.  The  city  which  he  so  long  adorned 
with  his  brilliant  genius  now  weeps  over  his  grave, 
and  good  men  think  to  themselves,  '  Can  his  soul  be 
saved?'* 

Almost  immediately  after  her  return  to  Edinburgh 
at  this  time,  Agnes  was  taken  ill  of  cold.  She  liad  been 
out  at  an  evening  l)arty,  and  was  for  such  an  occasion 
it  may  be,  but  not  for  the  state  of  the  weather  and 
her  own  safety,  appropriately  dressed.  She  began  to 
complain  in  the  montli  of  February,  1832.  Her  phy- 
sician treated  her  for  a  rheumatic  affection,  which  in 
a  gi'eat  measure  left  her,  only,  however,  to  return 

*  It  has  been  whispered  that  Lord  Jeffrey  did  not  reject  evangehcal 
truth  in  his  latter  days;  but  that,  like  his  illustrious  friend,  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  he  looked  at  the  cross.  Whether  this  was  a  look  from  the 
eye  of  faith,  must  remain  a  secret  until  'that  day.'  The  biographer  of 
Sir  James  informs  us.  that  as  his  soul  was  departing  he  refused  to  utter 
any  other  name  than  that  of  Jesus,  and  expired  as  he  pronounced  it. 
It  may  be  recorded  in  honour  of  Jeffrey,  that  one  of  the  last  acts  of  his 
life  was  the  transmission  of  a  handsome  donation  to  the  testimonial  fund 
on  behalf  of  the  venerable  Dr  Thomson  of  Coldstream,  to  whom  the 
church  and  the  world  are  laid  under  the  greatest  obligations  for  his 
indefatigable,  disinterested,  and  triumphant  exertions  in  the  cause  of 
bible  emancipation. 


126  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

with  considerable  violence  in  tlae  following,  month. 
She  then  entered  that  chamber,  and  was  laid  down 
upon  that  bed  of  weariness  and  suffering,  which  she 
never  left  till  carried  out  in  her  coffin. 

Cln'istian  reader,  —  If  you  have  accompanied  the 
writer  thus  far,  you  must  have  noticed  his  efforts  to 
keep  himself  out  of  view.  He  can  do  so  no  longer. 
One  thing  he  has  continued  to  regret  for  these 
eighteen  years,  namely,  that  he,  and  not  some  other, 
had  been  appointed  to  watch  at  that  bedside  of  sore 
distress,  and  to  wait  in  that  chamber  of  conflict.  A 
dislike  to  publish  so  much  wherein  he  himself  must  of 
necessity  appear  so  prominently,  has,  dnring  that  time, 
led  him  to  resist  many  strong  applications  from  very 
excellent  quarters,  to  give  to  the  world  the  manuscript 
from  which  the  following  memorials  are  to  be  drawn. 
That  dislike  is  not  overcome.  It  is  stronger  than 
ever ;  but  his  resistance  has  yielded  to  a  sense  of  duty. 
Scarcely  another  line  can  be  written  if  he  withdraws 
himself  from  the  scene,  so  constantly  and  seriously  was 
he  mixed  up  with  the  sequel  of  the  stor}'  of  his  sister. 
He  feels,  however,  that  the  employment  of  the  ildrcl 
person  could  not  disguise  the  individual,  while  it 
would  encumber  the  style  and  take  from  the  interest 
of  the  Memoir.  For  these  reasons,  which  principally 
affect  the  reader  s  gratification  in  its  perusal,  he  would 
now  respectfully  request  permission  to  write  in  the 
first  person,  promising  that  it  will  be  his  endeavour  to 
watch  against  any  unwarranted  intrusion.     He  would 


THE  FAREWELLS  OF  LIFE.  127 

only  further  remark,  before  he  begms  the  narrative  of 
the  means  by  which  the  spiritual  darkness  of  his  sister 
was  dispelled,  that  so  far  as  he  knows  and  can  remem- 
bei',  what  is  to  be  told  is  not  only  true,  but  fails  to 
convey  one  tithe  of  the  interest  with  which  this  sick- 
bed scene  was  throughout  invested.  His  prayer  he 
again  lifts  up  to  heaven  that  the  reader,  especially  if 
she  be  a  young  lady  in  the  hey-day  of  health  and 
hope,  may  rise  from  the  review  of  these  exercises, 
glorifying  God  for  such  a  warning  to  make  religion 
the  business  of  life,  and  to  regard  the  dying  hour, 
whensoever  it  may  come,  as  the  signal  for  victory,  not 
for  combat. 

'  Who  that  bears 
A  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt 
How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 
In  gentleness  together,  and  how  sweet  their  force, 
Let  fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 
Be  kind  or  cruel  ?     Ask  the  faithful  youth, 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  he  long  loved 
So  often  fills  his  arms,  so  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps,  silent  and  unseen. 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears? 
0,  he  will  teU  thee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego 
Those  sacred  hours,  when  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  soothes, 
With  virtue's  kindest  looks,  his  aching  breast, 
And  tui'ns  his  tears  to  rapture.' 

Akenside. 


CHAPTER   V. 


€i)t  UalUg  0f  t^e  Si^atioia  of  ©eatfi  cntereti. 

'  The  Bible !     This  sacred  ray  of  light, 
This  lamp  from  off  the  everlasting  throne, 
Mercy  took  down,  and,  in  the  night  of  Time, 
Stood,  casting  o'er  the  dark  her  gracious  how.' 

POLLOK. 

Having  heard  that  Agnes  was  now  so  ill  as  to  be 
constantly  confined  to  her  own  chamber,  I  felt  some- 
what anxious.  It  was  mj  Jirst  feeling  of  the  kind  on 
her  account.  For  many  years,  we  had  enjoyed  each 
other's  society  but  seldom ;  but  fraternal  attachment 
had  become  stronger  and  more  devoted  by  successive 
opportunities  of  observing  her  many  virtues,  and  sym- 
pathising with  her  in  all  her  little  and  peculiar  trials. 
Besides,  she  had  made  her  arrangements,  and  had 
already  forwarded  some  of  her  articles  to  Kincardine, 
preparatory  to  her  taking  up  a  permanent  abode  with 
me  in  the  manse.  The  time  was  now  past  upon  which 
we  had  agreed  that  she  should  be  with  me,  when  she 
paid  me  that  melancholy  visit  in  the  previous  autumn  ; 
and  I  felt  disappointed.  Under  the  impression  that 
this  should  be  a  mere  temporary  ailment,  and  hoping 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     129 

to  induce  her  to  return  with  me  to  the  country,  I  went 
to  Edinburgh  in  the  beginning  of  April.  It  was  late 
in  the  evening  when  I  arrived,  and,  with  no  grea* 
solicitude  lipon  my  mind,  I  at  once  entered  the  bed- 
room where  she  lay.  She  welcomed  me  with  a  sweet, 
a  most  impressively  peculiar  smile  ;  but  I  was  taken 
by  surprise.  I  had  seen  her,  only  a  few  weeks  before, 
in  this  same  dwelling  presiding  over  an  evening  party 
of  young  friends,  in  all  the  joyousness  of  health  and 
happiness.  The  long  dark  hair,  the  deep  blue  eye, 
the  expression  so  full  of  thought,  and  the  winning 
artlessness  of  her  entire  manner,  so  indicative  of  the 
accomplished  and  well-regulated  mind,  were  still 
imaged  within  me,  and  hence  the  shock  that  followed 
what  I  now  saw — the  face  deadly  pale,  the  eye  dull, 
the  expression  painful,  and  the  figure  stretched  out 
upon  a  bed  of  trouble.  Though  enjoying  at  the  time 
what  she  was  accustomed  to  call  a  '  moment  of  ease,' 
she  could  not  be  moved,  nor  even  touched  without  suf- 
fering much  pain,  and  occasionally  the  chamber  rang 
again  with  her  scream.  Nothing  of  importance  passed 
between  us ;  no  particular  religious  exercises  were 
engaged  in,  excepting  some  ordinary  allusions  to  the 
design  of  God  in  chastening  his  children.  The  sub- 
ject of  death  was  neither  now,  nor  for  weeks  to  come, 
before  either  of  our  minds.  The  idea  that  this  dear 
sister  was  on  her  death-bed  never  for  one  moment 
occurred  to  me ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  it  was  not 

associated  in  her  mind  with  her  y)resent  illness. 

f2 


130  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

I  returned  to  see  her  in  two  weeks  after  this,  and 
found  her  much  in  the  same  condition.  When 
free  from  attacks  of  pain,  she  was  lively,  patient, 
and  full  of  hope  that  soon  all  should  be  well,  and 
that  she  would  get  away  with  me  to  the  country. 

I  left  her  equally  hopeful.  I  paid  her  a  third  visit 
in  May,  having  gone  to  Edinburgh  to  supply  for 
my  friend  Dr  William  Peddie.  I  went  early  in 
the  week,  and  was  much  oftener  at  her  bedside. 
On  Wednesday  evening  she  seemed  easier  than  usual, 
and  disposed  to  converse.^^  I  cannot  remember  whether 
or  not  religion  was  introduced ;  but  as  she  knew  I 
was  to  officiate  next  day  in  Bristo  Church,  she  asked 
me  to  read  to  her  the  sermon  I  intended  to  preach.  I 
did  so.  She  became  uneasy  before  I  had  finished,  but 
insisted  on  hearing  it  to  the  close,  when  she  remai'ked 
that  she  regretted  much  being  deprived  of  the  public 
ordinances  of  Christianity,  and  evidently  longed  for 
the  return  of  health,  that  she  might  'go  up  again  to 
the  house  of  the  Lord.'  She  then  made  me  promise 
that  I  would  pass  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day — 
which  was  to  be  the  Fast-day  in  Edinburgh — alone 
with  her,  when  the  rest  of  the  family  should  be  at 
church.  I  promised ;  and,  after  having  preached  in 
the  forenoon,  I  hastened  over  to  Howe  Street.  I 
found,  however,  that  she  was  incapable  of  attending 
to  any  lengthened  exercise.  She  had  stipulated  for 
another  sermon,  and  I  began  to  read  one;  but  the 
drowsiness  induced  by  a  sleepless  night,   and  not  a 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     131 

little  suffering,  prevented  her  attending  to  nie.  She 
was  disturbed  in  her  sleep  every  now  and  then  by  a 
sensation  of  thirst,  when  she  called  for  water ;  and, 
from  her  muttering  during  slumber,  it  was  evident 
that  it  was  by  no  means  a  refreshing  one.  I  left  her 
again  on  the  following  day,  as  yet  totally  unalarmed 
about  her,  and  she  herself  apparently  as  confident  as 
ever  of  being  soon  well. 

But  the  hour  of  our  being  uiideeeived  at  length 
came.  Delicacy  forbids  that  its  peculiar  agonies  be 
disclosed.  She  had  been  too  much  idolised  by  her 
brothers.  They  had  allowed  their  affections  to  blind 
them.  In  the  midst  of  their  pi'ide  and  in  the  ])Ovver 
of  their  love  for  their  only  sister,  but  recently  settled 
down  amongst  them  in  the  bloom  and  beauty  of 
womanhood,  and  with  all  the  graces  and  gifts  of  a 
polite  and  sound  education,  they  had  never  contem- 
plated the  possibility  of  such  a  thing  as  death  coming 
to  cut  her  down,  and  carry  her  away  to  the  land  of 
forgetfulness.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  if  at  the 
first,  and  for  a  long  while  afterwards,  the  very  thought 
was  repulsive,  and  not  to  be  entertained ;  but  noiv, 
even  while  Hope  did  her  utmost  to  foster  and  sustain 
the  opposite  conclusion,  the  death-blight  of  fear  had 
fallen  upon  them ;  and  though  they  assumed  a  care- 
less, and  easy,  and  confident  air  in  her  presence,  they 
saw  it  in  each  other  that  they  were  only  actors.  But 
how  was  the  spell  broken? 

It  was  about  two  weeks  from  my  third  visit  that  I 


132  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

paid  her  a  fourth.  I  found  her  not  much  worse,  but 
evidently  no  better.  Her  sufferings  from  pain  and 
restlessness — from  sleepless  nights  and  wearisome 
days — were  truly  great,  and  borne  with  even  cheerful 
patience.  Now,  however,  I  saw  she  was  getting 
somewhat  concerned  about  the  probable  length  of  her 
illness — not  the  issue  of  it;  and  one  morning  when 
her  attentive  and  kind  physician,  the  late  well-known 
Dr  Abercrombie,  called,  I  resolved  to  venture  upon 
the  question  of  his  own  opinion  on  the  case.  His 
reply  placed  me  in  an  entirely  new  world  of  feeling 
and  fear.  He  said — '  There  is  very  much  reason  for 
anxiety.^  This  was  the  first  blow  of  a  heavy  and 
overwhelming  idea — it  overpowered  us.  The  con- 
ception of  her  death,  however,  was  too  large  to  be 
admitted  all  at  once.  It  was  a  new  study — we 
were  bewildered — young  and  inexperienced,  and  not 
sublimely  pious,  we  could  not  believe  it  possible. 
When  Dr  Abercrombie  left,  I  felt  that  I  must  enter 
her  chamber  in  another  character — -to  waken  her  out 
of  a  dream  of  life  which  was  not  to  be  realised — and 
summon  her  to  a  reality  of  preparing  for  eternity, 
which  was  all  as  yet  to  begin.  But  how  to  strike 
down  that  hope — how  to  undermine  that  strong 
natural  love  of  life,  and  how  to  persuade  that  happy, 
sanguine  girl  to  be  resigned  to  meet  and  combat  with 
the  king  of  terrors — were  exercises  from  which  at 
first  human  nature  shrunk.  On  entering  the  room, 
I  was  nearly  mastered  by   the    gush   of  pity  which 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.  loo 

arose  from  the  deep,  deep  sea  of  love  witliin  me,  and 
I  tried  to  conceal  my  face  from  her  view.  In  a  little 
while  I  had  got  the  command,  and  ventured  near  her. 

^  What  is  the  matter  with  you  I'  she  asked.     'You 
look  very  melancholy,' 

'  It  is  my  sympathy  with  you,'  I  replied ;  '  'tis  no 
wonder  if  I  get  dull  sometimes.' 

The  subject  of  conversation  was  then  changed, — 
nothing  further  was  done.  The  ordinary  topics  of 
religion  wei'e  introduced,  and  even  death  might  be 
spoken  about,  but  in  such  a  general  way  as  to  give 
her  no  key  to  our  secret  about  herself.  Efforts 
towards  mooting  to  her  the  probability  of  her  dying 
were  made,  and  they  all  failed.  Whatever  were  our 
exercises  in  the  closet  and  on  our  knees,  there  were 
none  appropriate  to  her  state  in  her  presence.  I  left 
her  thus,  on  the  confines  of  an  eternal  world,  as  I 
feared,  but  without  the  slightest  idea  on  her  part  that 
there  was  danger  in  her  case.  I  trembled  to  tell  her, 
lest  it  should  be  the  means  of  hastening  her  death,  so 
conscious  was  I  of  the  firm  hold  that  life  and  the 
world  had  of  her  heart.  Hearing;  that  she  had  rather 
improved  in  the  interval,  four  weeks  passed  away  after 
this  without  my  seeing  her.  I  had  conceived  that  the 
responsibility  of  breaking  to  her  the  subject  of  her 
critical  condition  properly  devolved  on  her  brother  in 
whose  house  she  was,  and  but  too  glad  to  escape  from 
the  duty,  I  entreated  him  to  do  so,  and  believed  that 
he  would.     But  it  was  not  done. 


134  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Four  weeks  passed  away  from  this  visit  before  I  saw 
Agnes  again.     She  had  been  rather  better,  and  pro- 
fessional engagements  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  go  to 
Edinburgh.      I   had   lost,    in   a  great  measure,   tlie 
anxiety  occasioned  by  Dr  Abercrombie's  remark,  and 
was  even  hoping  that  the  worst  was  over.     It  was  in 
a  beautiful  evening  in  the  middle  of  June  that  I  re- 
turned to  Kincardine  from  Stirling,  where  I  had  been 
assistino-  the  venerable  successor  of  El)enezer  Erskine 
at  the  dispensation  of  the  Lord's  Supper.     Among  the 
letters  awaiting  me  was  one  from  Edinburgh,  stating 
that  Agnes  had  been  worse  than  ever — that  Dr  Aber- 
crombie  had  given  up  all  hope  of  her  recovery — that 
she  was  dying — that  she  knew  it  not — tliat  she  must 
be  told,  and  that  I  must  tell  her.     These  were  sad 
news,  and  it  were  not  easy  to  describe  the  state  of 
mind  in  which,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  25th  of  June, 
I  sailed  down  the  Forth  towards  the  city  where  she 
lay.     A  brother  came  down  to  meet  me  on  arriving  at 
Newhaven,  and  prepared  me  for  what  I  was  so  soon  to 
witness.     On  reaching  Howe  Street,  I  remained  an 
hour  in  the  adjacent  room  before  I  had  courage  to 
enter  hers.     Commiseration  with  her  dreadful  suffer- 
ings— sorrow  for  her  early  doom — agony  to  know  that 
she  was  actually  dying,  and  knew  nothing  of  it,  and 
an  overwhelming  anxiety  about  her  soul's  salvation, 
all  combined  to  indispose  and  unfit  me  for  seeing  her. 
Besides,  I  now  felt  that  the  secret  must  be  disclosed, 
and  that  I  must  do  it.     How  would  it  confound  her  ? 


YALLFA'  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     165 

How  would  she  receive  it?  Would  it  drive  her  to 
terror  and  despair,  and  would  she  die  unconifbrted 
and  unresigned?  were  most  distressing  questions,  and 
demanded  instant  replies.  Once  and  again  I  resolved 
to  employ  some  other  friend  to  break  the  affecting 
truth  to  her,  and  as  often  fell  back  upon  the  thought 
that  it  might  be  merciful  to  withhold  it  ft-om  her  alto- 
gether. In  this  unsettled  and  oppressive  state  of 
feeling  I  at  last  yielded  to  entreaty,  and  entered  her 
room  and  looked  upon  her;  but  what  a  change  was 
there  Avhich  these  few  weeks  had  produced  !  Distress 
of  body  and  solicitude  of  mind  had  written  deep  their 
characters  on  every  feature  of  her  face.  I  had  to  hide 
from  her  view  its  overpowering  effects.  Very  languid, 
most  melting  was  the  smile  with  wdiich  she  tried  to 
gi*eet  me,  as  I  pressed  her  pale  hand  in  mine,  and  sat 
down  at  her  bedside  to  begin  the  sad  and  solemn  work 
of  preparing  her  soul  for  eternity. 

It  is  confessedly  both  a  delicate  and  painful  duty  to 
break  the  subject  of  death  to  the  dying,  and  especially 
to  a  dying  maiden.  This,  however,  is  a  duty  to  which 
ministers  of  religion  are  frequently  called,  and  the}- 
ought  to  be  qualified  for  discharging  it  in  such  a  way 
as  not  to  sink  faithfulness  in  mere  tender  regard  for 
natural  feeling.  In  general,  inexperienced  ministers 
are  under  the  fear  that  the  announcement  may  pro- 
duce disastrous  results ;  but  when  pi'operly  and  praver- 
fully  gone  about,  it  never  does  so.  When  the  person 
is  under  the  influence  of  divine  gTace,  the  Spirit  of 


13C)  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

God  is  beforehand  with  the  instrument,  so  that  the 
composure    with   which    the  intelhgence  is   received, 
makes  it  appear  as  if  there  had  been  not  only  the  anti- 
cipation of  but  preparation  for  it.     There  are  no  cases 
on  record  of  the  performance  of  this  duty  overwhehn- 
ing  the  dying.      And  even   though  tlie  patient  may 
liave  been  careless  and  unbelieving,  the  fulness  of  the 
awful  premonition  does  not  come  forth  with  such  en- 
tireness  and  power  as  to  be  realised.     Followed  up,  in 
either  case,  by  wise,  aflPectionate,  and  prudent  counsels, 
it  is  probable  that  the  most  happy  results  will  reward 
the  honest  discharge  of  the  duty.    There  are  many  who, 
from  a  false  affection,  would  hide  the  truth  from  the 
dying,  and  allow  them  to  pass  into  judgment  wholly 
unconscious  of  their  danger.     This  is  cruelty  of  the 
worst  kind,  and  cannot  be  too  strongly  reprobated.     If 
ever  the  christian  pastor  have  it  in  his  power  to  per- 
form an  act  of  genuine  kindness,  it  is  when,  finding 
this  to  be  the  case,  he  determines,  on  his  own  respon- 
sibility, to  act  consistently  with  the  serious  necessities 
of  the  case.     If  he  do  so,  he  may  rest  assured  that  the 
Lord  will  not  only  strengthen  him  for  his  dutv,  but 
bless  him  in  its  discharge,  and  at  the  same  time  give 
him  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  success  of  his  service  to 
the  immortal  being  whom  he  would  guide  safely  to 
'  the  land  of  uprightness.'     Such  were  the  happy  con- 
sequences Avhen  at  length  the  chapter  of  her  approach- 
ing death  was  opened  and  read  to  Agnes.     As  nearly 
as  the  ^^Titer  can  remember,  the  following  were  sub- 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     137 

stantially  the  terms  in  which  at  this  time  he  addressed 
her : — 

'My  dear  Agnes, — What  a  blessing  it  is,  that, 
thougli  you  liave  been  such  a  sufferer,  your  mind  is 
able  to  engage  itself  with  the  comfortable  subjects  of 
religion.  You  know  that  all  affliction  is  sent  to  sanc- 
tify God's  people.  None  of  them,  even  the  best,  are 
free  of  sin  in  this  life ;  and  hence  it  is  an  affecting 
proof  of  God's  fatherly  love  to  them,  when  he  casts 
them  into  the  furnace  to  purify  and  prepare  them  for 
being  more  usefid  here,  and  for  entering  heaven  when 
they  die.  It  does  not  follow,  however,  that  severe 
illness  must  end  in  death ;  for  very  often  it  is  sent  the 
better  to  qualify  his  servants  for  the  duties  wdiich 
await  them  in  this  world.  Still,  we  should  always 
connect  trials  with  sin  as  then'  cause,  and  with  the 
abandonment  of  sin  as  their  designed  effect,  in  order 
that,  being  led  unto  repentance  and  faith,  we  may  die 
at  last  "  meet  for  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in 
light." ' 

To  this  exordium  she  sweetly  assented,  but  silently. 
I  continued : — 

'  Your  prolonged  affliction  is  certainly  designed  to 
lead  you  to  repentance ;  and  you  are  not  youi*  own 
friend  if  you  do  not  make  conscience-work  of  looking 
into  your  past  life,  and  into  your  very  heart,  that  you 
may  thereby  see  your  sinfulness,  confess,  believe,  and 
be  forgiven.  You  do  not  need  to  be  told  what  evan- 
gehcal  repentance  is,  neither  is  it  necessary  to  tell  you 


138  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

where  to  go  for  pardon.  Yom-  mind  has  been  long 
famihar  with  the  gospel  story,  and  the  name  of  Jesus 
is  sweet  to  you — sweeter  far  than  any  other  that  can 
be  named  either  in  heaven  or  upon  earth.  I  hope 
God  has  many  days  of  usefiihiess  for  you  here ;  and 
your  duty  is  to  improve  this  illness,  by  daily  implor- 
ing him,  hke  the  patriarch  of  old,  to  "  show  you  why 
he  contends  with  you ;"  and  even  though  it  should  be 
his  will  to  take  you  away,  you  will,  by  such  exercises, 
be  prepared  to  bow  yom'  head  to  that  vdW,  and  say, 
"  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given  me,  shall  I 
not  di'ink  it  ?" ' 

She  continued  to  look  with  increasing  interest  upon 
me  as  I  proceeded,  making  me  feel  as  if  she  suspected 
my  fears,  and  wished  to  read  my  inmost  mind.  This 
threw  me  oflP  my  guard,  and  I  at  once  entered  upon 
a  more  general  mode  of  conversation,  opening  up  to 
her  the  plan  of  salvation,  extolhng  the  love  of  the 
Sa^dour,  and  exliibiting  the  safety  of  those  who  trust 
with  all  then*  hearts  in  his  all-sufficient  righteousness. 
The  interview  lasted  half  an  houi" ;  and  when  I  ceased 
speaking,  and  rose^  to  leave  the  room,  she  expressed 
herself  as  '  ha^dng  been  much  comforted  with  what  I 
had  spoken' — adding  to  her  nurse  as  I  retired,  '  I  am 
greatly  delighted  with  what  he  has  been  saying.' 
This  was  encouraging.  I  retmiied  shortly  to  bid  her 
good  night.  Having  engaged  with  her  in  prayer,  she 
drew  me  towards  her.     I  listened  anxiously : — 

'  I  Txdsh  to  say  something  :  you  have  thanked  God 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     131) 

for  wliat  jou  called  the  patience  and  resignation  with 
wliich  I  am  enduring  my  trouble.  You  ought  not  to 
have  done  so.  I  am  not  patient.  O  how  often  do  I 
mui'mur  and  forget  altogether  to  tJiank  Him  for  my 
moments  of  ease  from  suffering!' 

This  was  her  own  meek  estimate,  but  it  was  not 
correct ;  all  along  her  quiet  and  gentle  submission 
was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  features  in  her 
character.  A  murmur,  even  when  most  beset  with 
pain,  was  never  heard.  Every  one  saw  her  patience 
but  herself.  She  even  already  had  begun  to  veil 
herself  in  humility.  On  this  occasion  she  took  no 
alarm.  The  room  was  not  lighted — and  the  shades  of 
tAvilight  sei'\'ed  to  hide  my  emotions  fi'om  her.  But 
for  this,  she  could  not  have  failed  to  have  concluded 
rightly  as  to  my  intention  in  thus  addi'essing  her. 

June  26,  Tuesday. — Agnes  was  visited  to-day  ho- 
lier aunt,  Mrs  Dewar,  and  her  oldest  brother  from 
Dunfermline.  They  were  both  disappohited  that  she 
was  still  unapprised  of  her  real  condition ;  and  after 
some  conversation,  the  duty  of  doing  so  was  again 
devolved  upon  me.  I  consented  to  make  a  second 
attempt,  but  requested  that  I  should  be  left  alone  with 
her.  Having  sought  the  divine  aid,  I  entered  her 
room,  shut  the  door,  and  seated  myself  towards  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  Her  first  look  seemed  to  implore  me  not 
to  pronounce  the  sentence,  and  for  a  few  seconds  not 
a  single  word  passed  between  us.  At  length  I  took  the 
Bible,  determined  that  from  this  moment  she  should  be 


140  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

warned,  strengthened,  comforted,  and  enlightened  out 
of  its  precious  pages.     She  was  in  the  dark  valley, 
and  knew  it  not,  and  I  thought  that  the  shining  of 
this  Lamp  within  her  chamber  might,  in  the  first 
place,  make  her  sensible,  by  contrast,  of  the  surromid- 
ing  gloom,  and  also  anxious  to  see  the  way  through 
the  shado^^T  vale.      Into  many  a  dark  and  dismal 
passage  did  she  afterwards  draw  me  while  in  combat 
^^^th  her  unbelief  and  terrors;  but  as  I  made  it  a 
point  ever  to  cany  the  Bible  with  me,  we  had  always 
light,  and  light  that  never  led  astray.     There  is  no 
plan    of  addressing   anxious    inquirers,    especially   if 
dying,  so  sure  to  succeed  as  this.     The  Spirit  of  God 
is  certain  to  honour  and  bless  his  own  word.     And  if 
parents  or  pastors  desire,  when  there  is  need  for  it, 
to  do  the  most  invaluable  service  to  their  afflicted 
cliildren  and  people,  they  vnW  trust  less  to  their  own 
sympathetic  encouragements,  and  more  to  God's  won- 
derful testimonies,  alike  for  the  conversion   and  the 
confirmation  of  the  soul      From  this  moment  to  the 
liour  of  her  dissolution,  Agnes  was  never  left  without 
this  divine  light  in  her  room.     Her  day  of  life  was 
almost  spent,  and  her  nights  of  death  had  suddenly 
set  in ;    but   she  found   in   consequence  that  in  the 
evenincj  hour  there  was  lio-ht,  and  that  the  illnmina- 
tion  of  her  path  came  from  '  tlie  word  of  God.'     No 
doubt  she  read  many  good,  holy  books  of  prose  and 
poetiy  when   on  her  death-bed;  but  these  were  all 
regarded  by  her  as  subsidiaiy  to  her  Fathei^'s  merciful 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     141 

revelation.  The  Bible,  the  precious  Bible  was  Hhe 
mail  of  her  comisel/  and  the  guide  of  her  spirit  as  she 
steadily  brought  up  her  mind  to  the  full  realisation  of 
her  death,  and  to  its  ultimate  triumj)h  over  the  natural 
repugnance  to  submit  to  its  stroke.     I  began  thus : 

'  We  are  alone,  Agnes,  and  here  is  the  Bible ;  may 
I  read  a  portion  of  it  V 

'  I  will  be  obliged  if  vou  do ;  select  for  me,'  she 
answered. 

I  purposely  selected,  for  the  sake  of  the  fourth  verse, 
the  twenty-third  Psalm.  Like  most  children  of  pious 
parents  in  Scotland,  that  psalm  was  the  first  her  infant 
lips  had  lisped,  and  she  was  familiar  with  it.  I  thought 
she  might  the  more  easily  reproduce  and  meditate  on 
its  charming  truths,  by  having  her  attention  specially 
and  solennily  fixed  upon  it ;  we  are  so  apt  to  disregard 
those  scriptures  with  which  we  have  been  longest  and 
most  famihar,  forgetting  that  this  very  familiarity 
proves  them  to  be  super-excellent.  I  had  much  ease 
in  miveilino;  to  her  the  beautiful  character  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  as  the  shepherd  of  the  sheep,  and  of  explaining 
and  enforcing  the  confidence  which  every  one  of  them 
is  warranted  to  express  in  his  care  and  bounty,  both 
now  and  in  future.  As  I  discoursed  to  her  of  '  the 
green  pastvu'es'  of  his  covenant  engagements,  and  rich 
promises,  and  nourishing  doctrines,  and  of  the  sweet 
and  tranquillising  influences  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  wdien 
'  the  still  waters'  of  his  love  and  peace  are  poured  out 
upon  the  thirsty  soul,  she  seemed  to  forget  that  she 


142  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

was  a  sufferer.  When  I  pointed  out  to  her  the  natural 
aUenation  of  the  heart  from  God,  and  told  her  of  the 
far,  far  away  country  to  which  the  prodigal  son  had 
wandered,  and  explained  that  none  but  this  divine 
Shepherd  could  reconcile  that  heart  to  God,  and  bring 
back  that  soul  to  his  favour  and  his  home,  she  became 
still  more  absorbed  in  the  startling  theme.  But  when 
I  entered  the  '  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,'  and  dis- 
coursed of  its  rough  and  crooked  path,  its  lonesome, 
cheerless  region,  and  its  many  terrific  visitations  fi'om 
the  accusing  conscience,  the  ensnaring  fiends,  and  the 
dens  of  imbelief,  she  became  rmeasy — paler  she  could 
scarce  be — and  her  eye  was  restless,  and  her  expres- 
sion painful ;  nor  did  the  subsequent  consolation  of 
the  psalmist,  from  his  assm'ance  of  the  Shepherd's 
presence  and  protection,  allay  the  discomposure,  or 
recall  her  self-command.  I  thought  that  now  was 
God's  'accepted  time;'  and  just  as  if  the  thought 
had  only  struck  me,  I  asked  her  this  question : — 

'  By  the  way,  Agnes,  do  yoii  ever  meditate  on  death  ? 
Do  you  ever  look  to  it  as  the  probable  issue  of  youi* 
present  illness '?  Do  you  ever  really  set  yoiu'self  to 
prepare  for  it  ? ' 

'  No,'  was  the  short,  instant,  emphatic  reply  ;  but  it 
Avas  not  the  reply,  it  was  the  deep-searching  look  that 
accompanied  it,  which  almost  drove  me  again  from  my 
purpose.     I  proceeded — 

'  It  is,  notwithstanding,  yom'  duty  to  do  so.  There 
is  great  wisdom  in  being  prepared  for  death,  even  when 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.  143 

in  liealth,  how   much    more    so    when  under    severe 
affliction  like  yours  ?  ' 

'  It  is  true,'  she  said,  '  but  I  am  not  at  all  so  ill  as 
you  seem  to  think.' 

'  But  you  know,  Agnes,  that  the  issue  of  affliction  is 
very  doubtful,  and  especially  when  it  is  protracted  and 
severe.' 

She  gazed  upon  me  with  a  look  of  intense  anxiety, 
and  exclaimed, '  O  my  dear  brother ! '  She  then  burst 
into  tears.  I  wept  with  her.  I  closed  the  holy  volume, 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  proceed.     I  said — 

'  I  see  I  am  distressing  you,  Agnes,  and  I  will  de- 
sist.' 

'  No,  no,  no,'  she  cried.  '  What  are  you  here  for 
but  to  comfort  me  ?  ' 

General  allusions  again  followed  this  scene.  She 
suspected  something,  but  seemed  afraid  to  allow  all 
hope  of  life  to  be  dashed  from  her,  by  the  expression 
of  my  mind  in  her  presence.  She  kept  a  most  watch- 
ful look  upon  me  whenever  I  opened  my  mouth  to 
speak,  as  if  she  were  determined  to  put  it  out  of  my 
power  to  disclose  the  truth.  Ere  I  left  the  room,  I 
asked — 

'  Do  you  feel  quite  safe  in  the  prospect  of  death  V 
'No,   I  DO  NOT,'   she  answered;    and  again    she 
broke  out  into  weeping. 

'  What  is  the  reason  ?     Are  you  afraid  of  death '? ' 
'  I  am ;  because  I  have  a  wicked  and  unsubdued 
heart.     I  have  not  yet  believed,  and  have  been  a  ver}^ 


144  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

disobedient  child ;  besides,  there  are  many  things 
about  religion  which  I  do  not  understand,  and  Avliich 
trouble  me.' 

I  then  set  myself  to  find  out  the  source  of  her  in- 
ward fears ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  transcribe  them  in 
full,  or  my  replies,  either  in  refutation  of  harassing 
doubts,  or  in  confirmation  of  her  hopes  in  the  divine 
mercy.  She  spoke  and  felt  as  if  she  were  both  a 
believer  and  an  unbeliever.  From  what  seemed  to  be 
her  faith  she  got  little  comfort,  while  that  which  was 
her  unbelief  sometimes  threatened  to  make  shipwreck 
both  of  her  principles  and  of  her  peace.  The  Bible, 
however,  was  received  by  her  as  the  only  rule  of  a 
sinner's  faith  and  manners  ;  and  even  in  the  loftiest 
outbursts  of  poetical  admiration  of  its  value,  she  felt  a 
p>ure  and  stirring  sympathy.  With  Pollok  himself  she 
could  have  vied  in  the  depth  of  that  veneration  which 
thus  extolled  the  sacred  book  : — 

'The  Bible! 
Most  wondrous  book  !  bright  candle  of  the  Lord ! 
Star  of  Eternity  !  the  only  star 
By  which  the  bark  of  man  could  navigate 
The  sea  of  life,  and  gain  the  coast  of  bliss 
Securely — only  star  which  rose  on  time!' 

Ao-nes  had  never  been,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word,  a  sceptic.  Under  such  training  as  she  had  re- 
ceived, this  was  scarcely  possible.  From  the  da^^^ling 
of  her  reason  the  beauties  of  piety  had  been  before 
her  eyes,  and  the  principles  of  Christianity  instilled 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     145 

into  her  mind.  She  certainly  had  not,  from  that 
period  upwards,  been  under  the  saving  influences 
of  om*  holy  faith.  She  liad  not  given  evidence  of 
sanctification  from  the  womb,  though  from  a  cliild 
she  had  known  and  well  known  the  holy  scriptures. 
But  she  never  knew  what  the  sentiment  of  scorn  was 
for  the  precious  truths  of  revelation.  Before  the  awful 
mysteries  of  the  Bible  she  no  doubt  sometimes  trem- 
bled and  Avas  perplexed ;  but  she  never,  in  the  pride 
of  a  weak  intellect,  aifected  to  despise  them.  Her 
profession  was  always  orthodox  or  evangelical ;  and 
her  pi'ejudices  were  even  decidedly  in  favour  of  that 
form  of  soimd  words  which  from  her  youth  she  had 
been  taught.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  one  may  have 
unbelief,  and  yet  not  be  an  infidel.  Infidelity  is  a  re- 
jection of  Christianity  as  of  divine  authority.  Unbelief 
is  the  want  of  that  appropriating  faith  in  the  atone- 
ment of  Jesus  which  God  has  made  indispensable  to 
the  pardon  of  sin  here  and  life  everlasting  hereafter. 
It  is  to  the  credit  of  religiously-educated  young 
females,  that  seldom,  if  ever,  does  one  instance  of 
infidelity  occm'  amongst  them.  So  abhon-ent,  in- 
deed, even  to  female  propriety  and  decency,  does  such 
a  sin  appear,  that  it  is  rarely  kno\Aai,  even  among 
those  who  have  not  had  what  is  termed  an  evange- 
lical or  religious  upbringing.  A  male  infidel  is  cer- 
tainly a  pitiful  being — a  female  scorner,  however,  is 
unspeakably  more  so ;  and  if  there  be  a  case  in  which 
the  very    quintessence  of  compassion  works  in   the 


146  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

breasts  of  the  trxAj  pious,  it  is  when  a  young  lady, 
who  has  had  the  advantages  of  a  christian  nurture, 
and  an  elegant  education,  assumes  the  coarse  and  for- 
bidding airs  of  masculine  fi^eethinking,  in  obedience 
to  the  lowest  gTade  of  vanity  and  self-conceit.  Pam- 
pered she  may  be  by  the  compliments  of  unlettered  but 
deceitful  fops,  who  uniformly  have  as  little  of  brain  as 
they  have  of  principle ;  but  from  that  moment  she  is 
shunned  by  the  truly  good  as  a  leprous  or  unsightly 
object ;  latterly  even  the  scorner  himself  eschews  her ; 
and,  for  all  that  he  acknowledges  not  any  faith  in 
the  distmctive  doctrines  of  Christ,  he  would  not,  upon 
any  consideration,  unite  his  fortunes  with  a  woman 
from  whose  bosom  have  departed  the  very  sentiments 
and  feelings  for  which  human  nature,  with  all  its 
depravity,  has  a  kind  of  homage  in  reserve.  Hence, 
when  at  any  time  Agnes  mourned  over  her  unbelief, 
she  repudiated  the  thought  of  disrespect  for  the 
religion  of  the  cross.  She  acknowledged  it  to  be 
from  God ;  and  she  was  willing  to  regard  its  sub- 
lime revelations  as,  though  above  and  beyond  reason, 
in  no  sense  opposed  to  or  inconsistent  with  it. 

In  my  efforts  to  tranquillise  her  mind  this  evening, 
I  found  it  necessary  to  explain  to  her  the  proper  posi- 
tion of  the  decree  of  election  in  the  scheme  of  grace. 
To  her,  as  it  has  been  to  many  others,  this  scrip- 
tural doctrine  was  for  a  time  the  reverse  of  com- 
forting : — 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.    147 

'  God's  decrees  to  comprehend,  few  of  any 
Intellectual  size  did  not  sometime  in  their  day  attempt, 
But  all  in  vain ;  for  as  the  distant  hill, 
Which  on  the  right  or  left  the  traveller's  eye 
Bounds,  seems  advancing  as  he  walks ;  and  oft 
He  looks,  and  looks,  and  thinks  to  pass ;  but  still 
It  forward  moves,  and  mocks  his  baffled  sight— 
Till  night  descends  and  wraps  the  scene  in  gloom — 
So  did  this  moral  height  the  vision  mock : 
So  lifted  up  its  dark  and  cloudy  head 
Before  the  eye,  and  met  it  evermore.' 

CoDESE  OF  Time. 


Occasionally  also  she  desiderated  evidence  upon  the 
genuineness  and  authenticity  of  the  scriptures.  At 
other  times  she  was  afi'aid  she  had  sinned  beyond  the 
hope  of  mercy,  and  had  never  been,  notwithstanding 
the  good  opinion  that  others  had  formed  of  her 
rehgious  character,  anything  better  than  a  mere 
formalist.  She  latterly  came  to  the  conviction  that, 
upon  the  principles  of  Christianity  as  taught  by  its 
divine  Master,  she  was  unconverted — still  in  the  gall 
of  bitterness  and  in  the  bond  of  iniquity — and  conse- 
quently, that  as  she  could  do  nothing  for  herself,  or 
of  herself,  her  future  prospects  could  not  be  but  dark 
and  menacing.  There  was  one  feature,  however,  in 
this  season  of  spiritual  darlaiess  and  trouble  which 
was  remarkable.  Though  she  gave  way  to  doubts  of 
the  above  class,  she  never  expressed  any  hope  in 
her  own  good  works,  or  connected  salvation  and 
eternal  life  with  anything  but  the  free  and  sovereign 


148  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

gift  of  God  to  man  through  the  merits  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  She  had  no  doubt  that  the  Bible  doc- 
trine was,  that  the  justification  of  a  condemned  sinner 
depended  alone  and  entirely  upon  his  personal  interest 
by  faith  in  the  vicarious  sacrifice  of  the  Lamb  of  God, 
who  was  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  But 
then,  she  was  under  painful  solicitude  because  she 
had  not  a  distinct  apprehension  of  the  argument  for 
the  divine  authority  of  scripture,  and  no  inward  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  personally  interested  in  the 
atonement  which  it  reveals.  Direct  replies  to  all  her 
queries  were  of  course  given,  both  at  this  and  subse- 
quent times,  when  these  floods  of  great  waters  broke 
in  upon  her  soul ;  and  it  was  not  superficial  answers 
that  satisfied  her.  Every  point  in  the  argument  was 
keenly  examined,  and  the  bearing  of  the  parts  upon 
the  whole  subjected  to  impartial  scrutiny.  She 
seemed  so  far  satisfied  with  the  statement  I  made  of 
election.  She  was  told  that,  whether  confounding  or 
comforting,  such,  beyond  all  controversy,  was  a  doc- 
trine of  scripture ;  and  when  properly  viewed,  that  it 
was  one  of  the  most  encouraging ;  that  for  God 
merely  to  have  promised  an  atonement  for  our  sins, 
without  a  regenerator  to  our  souls,  could  have  ac- 
complished no  good ;  for  nothing  can  be  plainer  than 
that,  if  left  to  himself,  the  sinner  will  continue  in  his 
sin,  and  despise  the  ofifers  of  salvation  through  Christ, 
till  they  are  for  ever  beyond  his  reach ;  and  that, 
consequently,  it  was  the  very  perfection  of  divine  love 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     149 

that  the  benefits  of  Christ's  death,  while  they  are 
oflfered  to  all  freely  and  sincerely,  are  secure  to  some 
of  whom  the  apostle  writes,  that  '  they  were  chosen  in 
Christ  before  the  foundation  of  the  world;'*  that 
they  were  'predestinated  unto  the  adoption  of  children 
by  Jesus  Christ  to  himself^  according  to  the  good 
pleasure  of  his  will.' 

Not  only  on  a  death-bed,  but  often  in  the  course  of 
life,  do  the  inexplicable  things  of  God  agitate  and 
enfeeble  the  faith  of  the  christian.  They  ought  not 
to  be  permitted  to  do  so.  We  have  the  management 
of  this  matter  in  our  own  hands ;  and  if  we  only  use 
*  the  mystery '  of  Christ's  revelation  as  God  intends  we 
should,  it  cannot  be  the  cause  of  disturbance  to  any 
mind.  How  impressively  true  the  words  of  the  learned 
Neander,  whose  great  spirit,  as  we  trace  these  lines, 
has  passed  into  the  heavens :  '  Jesus  would  not  have 
been  the  Son  of  God  and  Son  of  man,  had  not  his 
words,  like  his  works,  with  all  their  adaptation  to  the 
circumstances  of  the  times,  contained  some  things  that 
are  inexplicable  ;  had  they  not  borne  concealed  within 
them  the  germ  of  an  infinite  development,  reserved 
for  future  ages  to  unfold.  It  is  this  feature — and  all 
the  evangelists  concm*  in  their  representations  of  it — 
which  distinguishes  Christ  fi^-om  all  other  teachers  of 
men.  Advance  as  they  may,  they  can  never  reach 
him  ;  their  only  task  need  be,  by  taking  him  more  and 
more  into  their  life  and  thought,  to  learn  better  how 
*  Eph.  i.  4,  5. 


150  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

to  bring  forth  the  treasures  that  lie  concealed  in  Him.' 
Now,  the  doctrine  of  election  is  jast  one  of  God's 
words  containing  this  '  germ,'  wliicli  is  '  reserved  for 
future  ages  to  unfold.'  It  is  re^^ealed  now  to  be  be- 
lieved, not  to  be  understood.  The  belief  of  it  is  per- 
fectly consistent  with  the  most  exalted  and  cheering 
views  we  have  of  the  Deity ;  and  so  far  from  its  being 
a  proof  against,  it  is  one  strongly  in  favour  of  the 
divinity  of  that  book  which  most  expressly  affirms  it. 
It  should  never  be  forgotten,  however,  that  we  abuse 
the  doctrine  of  election  whenever  we  turn  it  against 
our  own  interest  in  the  offers  of  pardoning  mercy. 
This  is  presumption.  It  is  to  take  for  granted  not 
only  what  has  not  been  revealed,  but  what  is  contrary 
to  express  revelation ;  for  God  has  declared  that  '  he 
has  no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  the  wicked,  but  rather 
that  all  would  turn  unto  him,  and  live.'  With  the 
reconciliation  of  these  two  apparently  contradictory 
views  no  being  has  any  business.  God  alone  can  do 
that,  and  He  ^^'ill  do  it  in  his  own  time,  to  the  confu- 
sion of  the  scorner.  It  is  enough  to  add,  that  the 
doctrine  leads  not  to  despah  but  to  encouragement ; 
and  the  fault  is  our  own  if  it  does  not  fill  us  with  com- 
fort. It  is  indeed  very  inspiriting  to  be  assui'ed  that 
our  acceptance  of  Christ  does  not  alone  depend  upon 
ourselves.  Had  it  been  so,  we  had  never  chosen  him. 
No  doubt  a  powei'fiil  and  cheering  influence  comes 
down  from  the  cross;  but  from  spiritual  death  the 
cross    alone  never   could   have  awakened   man,  nor 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     151 

excited  one  ennobling  desire,  nor  removed  one  bane- 
ful passion.  Appeals  to  interest,  to  gratitude,  to 
heaven,  to  bell,  must  have  fallen  ineffectual  on  bis 
dull  ear  and  duller  soul ;  and  tbe  entire  apparatus  of 
tbe  gospel  economy  migbt  have  moved  o)i  from  age  to 
age,  but  from  none  of  tbe  descending  generations  of 
men  could  it  of  itself  have  reclaimed  even  one  apos- 
tate. How  pleasing,  then,  to  think  that  tbe  potency 
of  the  christian  cbspensation  lies  in  the  decree  of  elec- 
tion, which,  as  it  goes  out  in  the  profusion  and  majesty 
of  its  merciful  mandate,  completes  the  perfect  adapta- 
tion of  the  scheme  of  love  to  tbe  spiritual  deadness  of 
man's  natural  state  !  Upon  its  removal,  then,  from  the 
system  of  grace  we  might  all  hang  up  oiu'  harps  upon 
tbe  willows,  and  learn  tbe  song  of  salvation  no  more. 

After  listening  to  sentiments  such  as  these,  she 
said — 

'  But  then,  as  God  has  concealed  the  names  of  tbe 
elect,  how  is  any  one  justified  in  considering  himself 
to  be  among  their  number  ? ' 

'  The  decree  itself  is  God's  concern.  He  has  not 
seen  it  meet  to  reveal  the  elect  by  name.  He  is  mider 
no  obligation  to  do  so,  and  bis  not  having  done  so 
leaves  u^s  all  to  include  ourselves  as  among  them  to 
Avhom  the  offer  of  pardon  is  unconditionally  made. 
Besides,  we  may  know  ourselves  to  be  among  the 
nmnber  of  his  adopted  by  the  feelings  of  affection 
which  we  cherish  towards  him,  and  the  efforts  we 
make  to  please  him  in  all  things.     Hence  tbe  apostle's 


152  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

order  in  that  well-laiown  text,  "  Wherefore  the  rather, 
brethren,  give  dihgence  to  make  your  calKng  and 
election  sure."  If  we  make  our  conversion  evident, 
Mve  may  rise  from  it  up  to  the  assurance  of  our  election. 
It  is  utter  contempt  of  this  divine  arrangement  when 
any  begin  to  seek  for  proof  of  election  before  they 
repent,  and  beHeve,  and  obey.' 

'  And  what  about  the  evidence  of  the  divine  claims 
of  Christianity  V 

'Nothing  is  more  easily  demonstrated  to  be  from 
God  than  the  religion  of  the  cross.  Waving  other 
considerations  at  present,  only  think  of  the  proof  from 
prophecies  ftdfilled  and  fulfilling,  and  of  miracles  per- 
formed by  the  Saviour  and  by  the  apostles  in  his 
name.  Do  you  not  think  it  a  much  greater  task  to 
faith,  to  believe  that  the  whole  affair  was  a  conspi- 
racy, and  that  the  predictions  of  holy  men  of  God, 
thousands  of  years  before  Christ  came,  were  literally 
accomplished  merely  by  lucky  coincidences  ?  Wliile 
the  evidence  from  prophecy  remains,  the  Bible  cannot 
be  proved  to  be  spiu'ious ;  and  as  for  the  miracles, 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  our  enemies  themselves  beins 
witnesses,  that  they  w' ere  performed ;  and  this  being 
the  case,  we  are  shut  up  to  believe  Christianity  to  be 
from  God,  or  else  that  God  lent  his  omnipotence  to 
a  few  impostors,  to  propagate  in  the  world,  and  tortm'e 
mankind  with  a  lie  !'  I  then  repeated  these  exquisite 
lines  of  Dryden,  where  he  apostrophises  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  New  Testament : — 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     153 

'Whence,  but  from  heaven,  could  men  nnskilled  in  arts. 
In  several  ages  born,  in  several  parts, 
Weave  such  agreeing  truths  ?  or  how,  or  why- 
Should  all  conspire  to  cheat  us  with  a  lie  ? 
Unasked  their  pains — ungrateful  their  advice ; 
Stai-ving  their  gain,  and  martyrdom  their  price.' 

Such  like,  at  this  and  other  times,  was  the  substance 
of  my  batthng  with  her  doubts.  She  was  quieted,  but 
not  con^-inced. 

Before  retiring  fi'om  her  on  the  evening  of  this  day, 
at  her  request  we  sang  together  these  beautiful  lines. 
Her  voice,  though  feeble,  was  audible  : — 

'  As  when  the  Hebrew  prophet  raised 
The  brazen  serpent  high, 
The  wounded  look'd,  and  straight  were  cur'd, 
The  people  ceased  to  die,'  etc. 

I  then  read,  ^Yith  a  few  comments,  the  103d  Psalm ; 
and  having  prayed  for  the  divine  blessmg  on  our  con- 
versation, left  her  for  the  niglit. 

June  27,  Wednesday. — It  was  the  afternoon  of 
this  day  before  I  saw  Agnes.  She  had  had  a  weak 
turn  since  morning.  Having  obtained  her  sanction,  I 
read  to  her  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  chapter  of 
John.  The  theme  was  Christ,  and  his  affecting 
sympathy  with  his  people  in  trial.  I  had  to  impress 
upon  her  the  duty  of  taking  God  at  Ms  word,  and 
exhorted  her  not  to  let  her  heart  be  troubled,  when 
he    desires  that    she    should    not.      I   unfolded   the 

Saviour's  character,   as  the   willing   hearer    and  the 
g2 


154  THE  NIGHT  LA.MP. 

ready  answerer  of  prayer,  and  opened  np  a  few  of 
the  attractive  scenes  of  his  hfe,  wherein  he  is  repre- 
sented as  hstening  to  the  cry  of  the  bhnd,  the  lame, 
the  diseased,  the  dying,  and  from  which  we  are 
entitled  to  conclude  that  he  is  willing  now,  as  he  was 
then,  to  heal  us,  especially  our  spiritual  diseases,  if  we 
call  upon  him.  To  this  exposition  she  listened  with 
amazing  dehglit,  and  when  I  asked  her  if  she  had  felt 
any  comfort  from  hearing  it,  she  replied,  smiling, 
'  Much — much.'  I  then  noticed  a  hpnn  book  on  her 
pillow,  which  she  had  been  reading  when  I  entered. 

'Do  you  relish  the  reading  of  sacred  poetry?'  I 
asked. 

'Yes,  I  do;  and  there  are  some  very  beautiful 
hymns  here,  hut  there  are  many  of  them  not  at  all 
suitable  to  me.  I  prefer  some  to  others ;  for  instance, 
I  like  those  that  breathe  penitential  sentiments,  and 
that  take  the  form  of  prayers.  When  I  lay  aside  the 
book,  I  can  use  them — I  can  breathe  over  their 
requests.' 

'  But  there  are  others  which  I  should  rejoice  to  see 
you  reading  and  relishing,  such  as  those  which  express 
joy  and  peace  in  believing,  or  tell  of  the  love  and 
glory  of  our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour,  or  paint  the 
beauties  of  the  "  better  land." ' 

'  Ah  no,  my  dear  John,'  she  said.  '  I  do  not  like 
these  so  well,  they  go  far  beyond  my  experiences.  I 
cannot  yet  go  so  far.' 

In  this  interview  I  could  not  get  the  painfol  subject 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     155 

of  death  approaclied,  and  after  a  devotional  service  I 
left  lier  in  tlie  evening  in  a  much  more  comfortable 
state  than  I  had  found  her  on  the  previous  one.  She 
was  better,  too,  hodUy. 

June  28,  Thursday. — This  morning  dawned,  but 
it  brought  not  along  with  its  light  the  rays  of  that  hope 
which  had  gilded  the  cloud  of  the  preceding  evening. 
She  had  tossed  up  and  down,  painfal  and  sleepless, 
during  its  silent  watches. 

'  Oh  if  I  could  enjoy  some  ease,'  she  said,  *  I  would 
not  fear  danger!  If  I  be  spared,  I  will  now  know 
how  to  appreciate  health.  Never,  never  can  such  a 
night  as  this  be  foro;otten.' 

'  Do  you  murmur,  Agnes  *? '  I  asked. 

'  No — I  hope  not ;  for  I  know  that  I  suffer  for  my 
sins  deservedly.^ 

Then  came  another  paroxysm  of  sore  pain.  When 
it  abated,  I  asked  her — 

*  Would  you  not  like  to  be  in  heaven  to  see  yoiir 
dear  parents?' 

'  Certainly.     O  yes,  I  would  ! ' 

'  Do  you  rejoice,  then,  in  the  prospect  of  meeting 
with  them'?' 

She  seemed  perplexed,  and,  with  considerable  hesi- 
tation, replied — 

'  No ;  but — I  do  not  know.  I  have  never  thought 
of  it.     O  dear,  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying — 


ease  me,  ease  me 


Ah !  thought  I,  as  far  as  ever  from  realising  her 


156  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

situation,  and  still  strong  in  the  hojDe  of  life !  and  jet 
on  this  very  day,  on  heing  told  that  a  letter  had  come 
announcing  the  death  of  her  maternal  uncle,  Captain 
Husband,  she  remarked  to  her  beloved  friend,  Mrs 
Gillespie,  who  had  come  from  Rew  to  ^^sit  and  niu"se 
her,  '  So,  uncle  John  is  dead !  One  of  us  is  away,  and 
I  may  be  the  next.'  This,  however,  might  be  said 
without  the  realisation  of  her  conjecture.  Having 
passed  a  day  of  much  pain,  I  suggested,  on  bidding 
her  good  night,  that  we  might  omit  the  usual  devo- 
tional ser^dces,  when  she  at  once  interrupted  me — 
'  Why  ?  O  why  would  you  omit  them  ?  You  know  I 
can  but  seldom  now  read  for  myself,  and  I  hope  you 
will  go  on.'  Even  at  this  time  she  desired  the  benefit 
of  spiritual  exercises,  though  she  did  not  derive  from 
them  that  joyfril  satisfaction  which  they  aftenvards 
imparted  to  her  mind. 

June  29,  Feidat. — 'Have  you  been  meditating!' 
was  my  first  question  on  seeing  her  this  morning. 
She  repKed  that  she  had. 

'  Upon  what  f  I  asked 

'  Upon  what  is  for  my  good.  I  pray  to  be  made 
ffood.' 

'Your  ivish,  then,  is  to  be  made  really  and  truly 
goodr 

'  O  yes — it  is — it  is ! ' 

'  I  need  not  tell  you  that  there  is  no  good  about 
yoiu'self.  Just  hear  me  read  one  or  two  passages  from 
the  Bible  : — "  They  are  corrupt ;  they  have  done  abo- 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     157 

niinable  works  ;  there  is  none  that  doeth  good."  "  The 
whole  head  is  sick,  and  the  whole  heart  faint ;  from 
the  sole  of  the  foot  even  unto  the  head,  there  is  nf) 
soundness  in  it :  but  wounds,  and  bruises,  and  putrify- 
ing  sores."  "  All  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray ;  we 
have  turned  every  one  to  his  own  way."  "  Therefore 
by  the  deeds  of  the  law  shall  no  flesh  be  justified  in 
his  sight."  "  For  all  have  sinned,  and  come  short  of 
the  glory  of  God ;"  and  are  "  hy  nature  the  childi'en 
of  Avi'ath,  even  as  others." 

Having  depicted  from  these  passages  o\\x  original 
depravity  and  our  own  personal  unworthiness,  I  asked 
her  wdiat  she  thought  of  herself,  \^'hen  she  immediately 
assented  to  the  humbling  doctrines  of  the  cross,  and 
acknowledged  herself  to  be  a  poor,  lost,  needy  sinner. 

'  No,'  she  added ;  '  truly  there  is  no  good  thing  in 
me.' 

'  Where,  then,  do  you  look  for  righteousness  f 

'  It  is  only  to  be  found  in  Christ  Jesus.' 

'  Do  you,  then,  confide  in  his  righteousness  for  par- 
don and  acceptance  T 

'  I  wish  to  do  so.'  * 

'  Do  you  not  beheve  that  it  is  perfectly  sufficient 
for  you  V 

'  Yes,  I  think  I  do.  But,  John,  is  it  not  one  thing 
to  believe  that  this  righteousness  is  sufficient  intrin- 
sically, and  quite  a  different  thing  to  receive  it  for 
one's  self?  0,  I  ccmnot  accept  of  it  I  I  am  not  im- 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  vii. 


158  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

proving ;  I  am  a  wicked  creature ;  my  guilt  lies  not 
merely  in  my  corrupt  nature,  but  in  innumerable 
actual  transgi'essions.  I  fear  that  I  am  not  a  believer 
in  the  word  of  God  after  all.  What  a  sinner  I  have 
been !'  * 

'  But,  my  dear  Agnes,  do  you  not  know  that  it  is 
written,  "The  blood  of  Christ,  God's  Son,  cleanseth 
from  all  sin  f  Do  you  not  think  it  can  cleanse  away 
even  your  sins  V 

'  Yes,  I  know  what  it  can  do ;  it  is  infinitely  valu- 
able.' 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  again  m  the  battles  of 
faith,  and  there  was  the  concomitant  cloud  and  con- 
fusion of  spiritu.al  conflicts.  There  was  need  of  more 
light.  I  again  took  the  Bible,  and  read  and  explained 
to  her  Isaiah  liii.  I  wished  to  bring  her  simply  to 
rely  on  the  atonement  of  Cln-ist — to  look  away  from 
herself,  and  to  look  alone  to  Jesus.  But  God's  time 
was  not  yet  come.  She  'refused  to  be  comforted.' 
After  a  pause,  ISIi's  Gillespie  asked  her  if  she  was  not 
desirous  to  go  to  heaven. 

'  O  yes,'  she  quickly  rephed,  '  I  am.  If  I  was  sure 
of  entering  heaven  at  death,  I  would  die  with  pleasm'e 
to-morrow  ;  but — I  do  not  think  there  is  any  danger  in 
my  complaint,^ 

'■  You  know  that  we  all  love  you,  Agnes,  but  we 
coidd  part  with  you  if  we  thought  you  were  going  to 
heaven — we  pray  that  you  may.' 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  viii. 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.    159 

'  It  is  a  soui'ce  of  great  consolation  to  me  to  know 
that  you  remember  me  in  your  prayers.  Mr  Gillespie, 
Isabella  tells  me,  prays  for  me — that  is  a  friend  I  did 
not  think  of:  "the  effectual  fervent  prayer  of  a 
righteous  man  availeth  much."' 

After  another  pause  she  said  to  me  : — 

'  I  will  tell  you  why  I  like  you  to  be  so  much  with 
me.  When  I  read  the  Bible,  especially  the  New 
Testament,  which  is  most  beautiful,  I  often  detect 
myself  far  away  in  thought  from  it ;  but  when  you 
read  to  me,  or  repeat  passages  all  prepared  and  fitted 
to  suit  my  peculiar  views  and  feelings,  I  draw  very 
gi'eat  comfort  from  them.  I  like  you  also  to  pray 
with  me — I  cannot  pray  aright — I  wander — I  begin 
to  thank  God — to  ask  greater  submission  to  his  will 
— to  implore  an  interest  in  Christ — and  then  I  am 
over  into  slmuber ;  but  when  you  pray,  I  attend  and 
follow.' 

'  God,'  I  replied,  '  does  not  expect  so  much  from  a 
person  in  deep  affliction,  as  he  does  fi'om  others  whose 
bodies  and  minds  are  alike  sound.  What  he  most 
expects  from  you,  in  yom*  circmnstances,  is  patience.' 

'  Ah,  then,  he  expects  what  he  does  not  get  fi'om 
me.' 

'But  you  ought  not  to  think  of  God  as  a  hard 
taskmaster,  "reaping  where  he  has  not  sowed,  and 
gathering  where  he  has  not  strawed."  He  "knows 
your  fr-ame,  and  remembers  you  are  dust;"  "the 
bruised  reed  he   will  not   break,   and  the   smoking 


160  THE  IS^IGIIT  LAMP. 

flax  lie  will  not  quench  ;''  lie  does  not  "  desjiise  even 
the  day  of  small  things ;"  and  3'ou  remember  what  he 
said  to  Moses  when  he  stood  A\dtli  him  in  the  cloud 
and  proclaimed  his  name  to  be  "  the  Lord,  the  Lord 
God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long-suffering  and  abun- 
dant in  goodness,  and  in  truth ;  keeping  mercy  for 
thousands,  forgi^ang  iniquity,  transgression  and  sin." ' 

'  Yes ;  it  is  all  true  ;  but  are  there  not  many  awful 
threatening s  in  the  Bible  ?  what  comes  of  them  ?  who 
receives  them?' 

'  Not  the  lovers  of  God,'  I  replied.  '  His  menaces 
are  denoimced  only  against  those  who  persist  in  sin 
and  reject  his  mercy.  They  cannot  touch  a  beHever 
in  Christ,  who  is  not  only  a  "  hiding-place  from  the 
wind,  and  a  covert  from  the  tempest,"  but  "I'/i  him  all 
\hQ  promises  are  yea  and  amen."  '  * 

'Yes,  there  is  comfort  in  that  thought;  but,  John, 
is  there  not  a  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  is  it  not 
possible  to  be  beyond  the  pale  of  pardon  here  ?  may 
we  not  so  live  as  to  drive  the  Holy  Spirit  away,  and 
provoke  God  to  say  of  us  as  he  said  of  Eplu'aim,  "He 
is  joined  to  his  idols  ;  let  him  alone  ?"  ' 

'  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  this,'  I  answered,  '  and 
many  have  accordingly  perished.' 

'  And  what  if  this  should  be  the  case  with  me "? ' 

'  You  must  not  think  so,'  I  rejoined,  '  even  for  one 
moment.  Just  listen  to  me.  The  "  sin  agamst  the 
Holy  Ghost"  is  one  of  those  revelations  of  which 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  pp  248-253. 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     161 

Satan  makes  iise  to  destroy  the  confidence  of  God's 
people.      He  insinuates  that  it  has  been  committed 
where  it  has  not ;  and  if  we  would  reflect  for  a  single 
moment,  we  would  see  that  the  very  concern  we  feel 
upon  the  subject  is  the  proof — the  very  proof  that  it 
is  not  chargeable  against  us.     They  sinned  against 
the  Holy  Ghost  in  the  days  of  our  Lord  who  denied 
his  Messiahship — who  resisted  the  clear  evidence  of 
his  deity,  and  who  attributed  his  power  of  working- 
miracles  to  the  agency  of  devils.     Now,  does  it  not 
seem  a  matter  of  com'se  that  such  persons  should  not 
be   saved.      These  very  evidences,  employed  by  the 
Spirit  of  God  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of  Messiah's 
mission,  ought  reasonably  to  have   captivated  every 
mind,  inasmuch  as  nothing  can  be  conceived  so  irre- 
sistibly convincing.     And  ruider  the  gospel  dispensa- 
tion still,  this  sin  consists  in  resisting  the  proofs  of  his 
revelation,    and   living   in   systematic  contempt   and 
neglect  of  his  gTcat  atonement.     There  is  but  "  one 
Mediator  between   God   and   man."      If,    then,    we 
despise  him,  and  continue  till  death  to  refuse  him,  of 
com'se   we    perish — we  commit  the    sin   against  the 
Holy  Ghost — we  will  not  accept  of  mercy,  hence  we 
ourselves   resolve   that  we   are  not   to   be   forgiven. 
This  is  what  is  called  putting  one's  self  beyond  the  pale 
of  mercy.     Notwithstanding,  the  greatest  sinner  may 
retui"n.     He  shall  never  be  forgiven  while  he  commits 
this  sin ;  but  in  that  very  moment  in  wdiich  he  yields 
himself  up  to  God  and  submits  to  his  righteousness, 


162  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

he  is  accepted  in  "  the  beloved  One."  It  all  resolves 
itself  into  this — God  is  ready  to  pardon  whenever 
we  are  willmg  to  be  pardoned  in  the  way  and  man- 
ner of  liis  own  appointment.  Let  us  read  together 
that  most  touching  and  beautiful  of  all  our  Lord's 
parables,  "  The  Prodigal  Son/'  and  you  shall  see  all 
this  to  be  true.' 

Having  read  and  explained  this  precious  passage, 
she  seemed  somewhat  composed.  She  admitted  that 
she  desired  to  be  saved  through  the  blood  of  the  cross, 
and  that  she  acknowledged  no  other  name  but  '  Jesus 
Christ,'  and  no  other  foundation  but  '  him  crucified.' 
Still  she  reflected  upon  herself,  and  said — '  Have  I  not 
been  a  formalist  in  religion ;  and  am  I  not  now  de- 
ceiving myself  into  the  idea  that  I  am  a  believer  ?  O 
I  have  been  a  thouo;htless  creature  !  The  world  and  its 
vanities  have  been  uppermost  in  my  heart ;  God  and 
eternity  have  passed  but  seldom,  and  never  seriously, 
tlu'ough  my  thoughts,  so  that  I  have  been,  and  am,  in 
the  gall  of  bitterness,  and  in  the  bond  of  iniquity  !' 

It  was  indeed  distressing  to  hear  and  witness  such 
scenes.  She  was  manifestly  without  'the  peace  of 
God,'  but  whether  or  not  without  the  '  grace  of  God,' 
it  is  not  man's  province  to  determitie.  I  endeavoured 
to  lead  her  to  the  '  fomitain  opened  to  the  house  of 
David  and  to  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem,  for 
sin  and  for  uncleanness ; '  urged  upon  her  the 
necessity  of  turning  her  attention  away  from  herself 
altogether    for    a   season,    to    regard    Jesus   on    the 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.     163 

cross ;  told  her  that  she  seemed  ah'eady  to  be  '  con- 
vinced of  sin '  by  the  Holy  Ghost ;  that  she  was 
willing  to  confess,  and  that  God  was  more  willing 
to  forgive;  and  that  in  this  state,  having  seen  her 
worthlessness  and  deplored  it,  her  duty  was  very  clear, 
'  to  flee '  unto  Christ,  and  cast  all  her  sins  upon  him 
who  '  is  able  to  save  unto  the  uttermost  all  who  come 
unto  God  by  him.' 

The  evening — and  such  an  evening — was  now  far 
spent,  and  it  behoved  me  to  leave  her.  Before  doing 
so,  I  asked  if  I  should  pray  for  her. 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  '  pray  for  me ;  O  pray  for  me,  that 
God  would  quicken  my  heart,  still  "  dead  in  trespasses 
and  sins ;"  that  he  would  give  me  more  comfort  in  my 
Bible ;  some  comfort  in  every  verse ;  and  above  all, 
that  he  w^oidd  give  me  "  an  interest  in  Christ."  ' 

I  promised,  and  we  parted  for  the  night. 

June  30,  Saturday. — 'I  must  leave  you  this 
afternoon,  Agnes.  To-morrow  is  the  Lord's-day,  and 
you  know  I  must  be  at  home.' 

'Can  you  not  obtain  supply  for  your  pulpit,  and 
remain  with  me  ?  I  have  had  a  little  sleep  through 
the  night,  for  which  I  am  thankful  to  God,  and  we 
might  have  some  profitable  conversation.' 

Just  as  she  said  this,  one  of  her  brothers  entered, 
and  put  into  her  hand  a  beautiful  rose.  She  smiled, 
and  thanked  him.  I  took  the  Lamp  and  showed  to 
her  the  rose  of  Sharon,  expecting  a  reply  that  might 
tell  of  begmi  faith,  and  send  me  home  happy. 


164  THE  NIGHT  LA]«P. 

'  You  liave  in  Jesus,'  I  said,  '  a  far  more  fragrant 
and  lovely  flower  than  this.  He  is  the  rose  of  Sharon 
and  the  lily  of  the  valley.' 

She  made  no  reply.  I  pressed  the  subject  upon 
her  attention  perhaps  too  strongly,  but  after  such  a 
midnight  battle  as  this  week  had  witnessed  between 
us,  I  panted  after  the  honour  of  the  conqueror. 

'I  should  rejoice,  Agnes,  if  you  would  repeat  after 
me  these  words,  "My  rose  is  the  rose  of  Sharon."' 

'  My  rose  is  the  rose  of  Sharon,'  was  the  immediate 
echo. 

'  My  dear  sister,  did  you  utter  these  words  in  faith  V 

'I  hope  so,'  she  replied;  but  her  expression  was 
anything  but  hopeful. 

'  I  am  anxious  to  luiow  wdaether  my  presence  with 
you  this  week  has  tended  to  youi'  comfort.' 

'  I  have  got  some  comfort  from  you.' 

'  Do  I  leave  }'ou  with  an  easier  mind — with  more 
light?' 

'  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  do.' 

'  Permit  me  to  implore  you,  as  you  value  your 
soul's  peace,  when  youi*  sins  rise  up  against  you,  and 
when  you  recall  the  threatenings  of  the  Almighty 
against  them,  to  turn  your  mind  boldly  and  quickly 
to  the  precious  promises  wliich  I  have  so  often  repeated 
to  you.  O  betake  yourself  to  the  refuge  provided — 
escape  to  Christ  for  your  life !  The  dread  of  the 
threatening  law  ought  to  drive  j^ou  to  the  hopes  of  the 
promising  gospel.      And  why   should  you  prefer  to 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.    1G5 

contemplate  the  froum  of  tlie  one  rather  than  the  smile 
of  the  other  r* 

'  Where  would  be  my  comfort  but  for  the  promises  f 
she  meekly  replied. 

'  Especially  such  as  these,  Agnes  : — "  Come  now, 
and  let  us  reason  together,  saith  the  Lord :  though 
your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  snow ; 
though  they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as 
wool."  "  I,  even  I  am  he  that  blofteth  out  thy  trans- 
gi'essions  for  mine  o^aii  sake,  and  will  not  remember 
thy  sins."  "  I  have  blotted  out,  as  a  thick  cloud,  thy 
transgressions,  and  as  a  cloud  thy  sins :  return  unto 
me,  for  I  have  redeemed  thee."  "  Who  is  a  God  like 
unto  thee,  that  pardoneth  iniquity,  and  passeth  by 
the  transgression  of  the  remnant  of  his  heritage  ?  He 
retaineth  not  his  anger  for  ever,  because  he  deligliteth 
in  mercy.  He  will  turn  again  ;  he  will  have  compas- 
sion upon  us ;  he  will  subdue  our  iniquities  :  and  thou 
wilt  cast  all  their  sins  into  the  depths  of  the  sea.  Thou 
wilt  perform  the  truth  to  Jacob,  and  the  mercy  to 
Abraham,  which  thou  hast  sworn  mito  our  fathers 
from  the  days  of  old." '  f 

Eetuming  pain  and  restlessness  put  a  stop  to  this 
work.  Having  prayed  with  her,  I  left  the  room. 
When  alone  with  Mrs  Gillespie,  she  said — 

'  I  will  sadly  miss  John's  prayers  to-night — he  is 
going  away.' 

*  See  'The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  133-138. 
t  Isa.  i.  18  ;  xliv.  22 ;  Micah  vii.  18-20. 


166  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  He  will  pray  for  you  wherever  he  is.' 
'  I  know  that — for  me — but  not  witli   me.     Will 
some  one  read  to  me  the  fifty-first  Psalm?'      Her 
request  was  complied  watli. 

Thus  teraiinated  the  solemn  work  of  this  first  and 
memorable  week — a  week  of  which  Agnes  spoke  often 
to  her  djHing  day.  The  account  given  is  meagre 
indeed,  compared  with  the  reahty.  On  some  occasions 
she  spoke  so  rapidly,  and  followed  up  my  answers  with 
such  quickness,  that  1  found  it  impossible  to  recall  a 
tithe  of  what  passed.  It  was  a  week  of  constant 
conflict.  I  hope  it  was  the  battle  of  faith — a  week  of 
perplexity  and  doubts,  and  full  of  much  spiritual  soh- 
citude  to  us  both ;  but  it  was  also  a  week  out  of  whose 
darkness  came  forth  hght,  and  from  whose  disquietudes 
there  arose  the  joys  and  peace  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
In  one  sense  I  left  her  as  I  found  her ;  for  though  we 
both  felt  that  each  had  a  reason  not  stated  for  such 
earnest  exercises,  there  was  no  direct  allusion  to  the 
hopelessness  of  her  case.  I  felt  that  substantially  the 
revelation  was  made  to  her,  and  that  it  would  not  now 
fall  so  heavily  when  it  was  actually  communicated. 
Though  far  from  being  satisfied  with  her  state  of 
mind,  I  was  thankfiU  that  she  appeared  to  be  con- 
cerned about  her  spiritual  interests,  and  that  she  had 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  '  way  of  life.'  She  dis- 
tinctly apprehended  the  atonement  as  the  foundation 
of  the  sinner's  hope ;  she  acknowledged  the  efficacy 
and  infinite  worth  of  the  Saviour's  sacrifice  ;  she  was 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.    167 

charmed  with  his  character  as  an  advocate  and  a 
friend;  and  she  even  got  the  length  of  being  wilhng 
to  be  nothing  so  that  he  might  be  everything.  But 
still  she  was  weak  in  the  spirit  of  her  inner  man, 
when  she  looked  within  and  saw  her  sinfulness,  and 
when  she  looked  behind  and  saw  her  innumerable 
transgressions,  and  when  she  looked  before  and 
realised  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ.  She  seemed  as 
if  standing  at  the  mouth  of  the  well  of  salvation,  but 
afraid  or  unfit  to  let  do^vn  the  pitcher  to  draw  and 
drink.  She  saw  the  Saviour  before  her  with  out- 
stretched arms,  and  trembled  for  a  season  to  imsh  into 
his  embrace.  But  the  dawn  was  at  hand,  and  ere 
long  '  the  day-star  ft^om  on  high '  visited  her. 

How  serious  is  the  responsibility  of  those  who  have 
thus  to  guide  and  uphold  the  souls  of  their  dying 
relatives  ;  and  yet  what  a  mercy  it  is  that  they  have 
at  their  command  such  an  amount  of  glorious  con- 
solations !  None  need  be  afi'aid  to  accompany  the 
afflicted  ones  through  the  dark  valley,  if  they  have 
chosen  for  their  motto  the  saying  of  the  Psalmist — 
'  Thy  woed  is  a  Lamp  unto  my  feet.' 


CHAPTEE   VI. 


2rf)e  lafse  of  faitfj. 

'One  night,  methouglit  a  voice  said  in  my  cell, 

Despondency,  and  Anguish,  and  Despair 

Are  falling  o'er  thee — "  Curse  thy  God,  and  die  !  " 

Peace !  Resignation  !  and  immortal  Hope  ! 

A  dewy  voice  replied.     It  was  a  dream ; 

But  the  good  angel's  voice  was  in  my  soul 

Most  sweet  when  I  awoke ;  and  from  that  hour 

A  heavenly  calm  hath  never  left  me.' 

John  Wilson. 

All  hope  of  Agnes'  recovery  was  now  abandoned,  and 
tlie  sorrow  of  her  friends  was  great  on  her  account. 
They  grieved  that  soon  they  should  see  her  face  no 
more.  Sohcitude  about  the  youthful  su^fFerer  no 
doubt  still  existed;  but  it  was  occasioned  by  veiy 
different  considerations.  We  began  to  be  alarmed 
about  her  eternal  interests.  We  had  scarcely,  if  at 
all,  doubted  that  her  religion  was  genuine ;  and,  had 
she  not  of  her  own  accord  pronounced  so  decidedly 
against  herself,  we  could  not  have  doubted  it,  now 
that  she  was  passing  away  fi'om  the  concernments  of 
time.     But  the  question  of  her  soul's  spiritual  state 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  169 

was  by  far  too  important  to  be  settled  on  the  grounds 
of  our  favourable  estimates.  Her  language  concern- 
ino-  herself  from  this  time  was  veiw  remarkable  for  its 
distinct  and  unaffected  condemnation  of  her  state  and 
conduct  in  the  past.  She  insisted  that  she  had  not 
felt  the  power  of  divine  truth  in  her  soul — that  she 
had  not  received  the  Spirit  of  adoption — that  all  her 
so-called  relimous  feelings  had  been  fancies — and  that, 
unless  some  ojeat  and  evident  chano-e  were  effected 
upon  her  before  she  died,  she  (hd  not  see  how  she 
could  be  saved.  To  us,  who  loved  her  so  dearly,  this 
was  indeed  a  A^ery  heart-rending  state  of  things.  The 
idea  of  her  soul  apj^earing  before  God  uninterested  in 
Clrrist  was  insupportable,  and  made  us  feel  that  we 
could  cheerfully  be  resigned  to  her  death,  if  we  were 
assured  of  her  conversion.  For  a  while  we  felt  as  if 
stunned  by  her  revelation  that  she  was  not  yet  born 
again.  Of  coiu'se  we  did  not  then  permit  our- 
selves to  believe  that  it  was  so :  we  set  it  down  to  a 
morbid  jealousy  of  herself,  and  to  that  lowly  estimate 
which  even  the  most  eminent  saints  form  of  their 
own  state  and  character.  But  she  had  shaken 
tliis  fomidation  of  oiu*  partial  judgment ;  and  the 
Aery  thought  that  it  might  be  with  her  as  she 
said  it  was,  threw  us  into  fear  and  trembling  lest 
she  should  die,  and,  peradventure,  be  lost.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  pain  Avhich  cannot  be  described  that 
her  spii'itual  doubtings  and  conflicts,  dmnng  the 
bygone  week,  had  been  witnessed.     Though  towards 


170  THE  NIGHT  LA5IP. 

the  end  of  the  week  there  was  undoubtedly  a 
change  in  her  way  of  speaking  about  herself,  and 
apparently,  too,  more  composure  of  manner  and  pla- 
cidity of  expression,  the  indications  of  amrious  inqiiiri/ 
were  many  and  distressing.  Sincere  and  fervent  were 
our  prayers  that  she  might  be  spared  till  the  clouds 
were  chased  away,  and  till  the  'day  dawned.'  Truly 
our  souls  '  waited  for  the  Lord  more  than  they  that 
watch  for  the  morning.'  Ovu'  hope  was  in  liis  mercy, 
that  he  would  bless  the  very  serious  and  earnest  work 
in  which  we  had  been  engaged  with  her,  and  that 
soon  she  would,  of  her  own  accord,  cast  the  burden  of 
fear  from  our  minds,  though  it  were  only  by  the  u^se  of 
the  publican's  prayer,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner.'  Nor  was  our  hope  put  to  confusion.  As 
the  Sabbath  daw^ned,  Faith  seemed  to  have  arisen 
'  with  healing  under  her  wings.'  With  some  diffi- 
dence she  ventiu'ed  to  express  the  hope  to  a  brother, 
that  the  Lord  had  dealt  bountifully  with  her  soul,  and 
had  so  greatly  blessed  the  conversations  and  exercises 
of  the  past  week,  that  she  now  felt  as  she  had  never 
felt  before,  and  now  saw  the  preciousness  of  Jesus  as 
she  had  never  seen  it.  It  is  impossible  to  express  the 
joj-fid  natm'e  of  our  feelings  over  this  token  of  God's 
reconciling  love.  Still  we  were  not  permitted  to  be 
carried  away  by  too  much  confidence  tliat  the  great 
change  of  regeneration  had  actually  taken  place.  She 
occasionally  expressed  herself  with  great  caution,  and 
now  and  then  even  seemed  on  the  eve  of  destroying 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  171 

oui'  hopes.  Before  the  reader,  however,  has  closed 
this  chapter,  he  may  be  convinced  that  this  translation 
of  Agnes'  soul  fi'om  darkness  to  light  had  actually 
taken  place. 

A  night  of  incessant  pain  had  ushered  in  the  morn- 
ing of  this  holy  Sabbath  (July  1st.)  One  of  her 
brothers  was  lenduig  his  assistance  to  change  her 
position,  and  expressed  his  hope  that  the  'peace  of 
God '  was  now  not  altogether  a  stranger  to  her  bosom. 

'  I  hope  not,'  she  replied.  '  But  this  I  know,  I  am 
Avilling  now  to  die,  though  it  were  only  to  be  relieved 
fi'om  such  agony.' 

'It  is  indeed  a  sore  trial  to  you,  Agnes,  but  it  is  the 
Lord;  and  I  hope  you  can  say,  "Let  him  do  what 
seemeth  good  unto  him."' 

'I  know,'  she  said,  'that  I  ought  not  to  wish  death, 
merely  to  be  free  of  pain ;  it  is  sinftd  to  do  so.  I  feel 
these  hnes  veiy  applicable  to  me — 

"  God  will  not  always  chide, 
And  when  his  strokes  are  felt, 
His  strokes  are  fewer  than  our  crimes, 
And  lighter  than  our  guilt." 

I  msh  you  would  read  to  me  the  14th  chapter  of  John.' 
When  this  was  done,  she  received  a  Aasit  from  one 
of  the  daughters  of  her  kind  physician,  Dr  Abercrom- 
bie,  who  devoted  the  interval  between  the  forenoon 
and  afternoon  service  to  her  dying  friend.  This  visit 
was  most  seasonable  and  beneficial,  and  Agnes  appre- 
ciated its  kindness.     The  subject  of  death  was  not 


172  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

slimmed,  and  the  necessity  of  being  prepared  for  it 
was  mildly  but  faitlifully  urged. 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  '  all  should  be  ready  for  death  before 
sickness  comes ;  a  bed  of  suffering  has  plenty  to  do 
with  itself.  I  hope  I  know  what  is  duty,  but  it  is  not 
easy  to  get  the  heart  to  be  submissive.' 

She  was  advised  to  use  diligently  the  means  of 
grace,  esj)ecially  prayer  and  the  reading  of  scriptui'e. 
She  said — 

'  What  a  sweet  time  it  Avas  to  me  when  John 
was  with  me  last  week  !  His  exertions  have  brought 
me  round  thus  far,  that  I  think  I  am  now  quite 
willing  to  resign  myself  into  the  hands  of  God.' 

Next  day  she  said  to  her  nurse,  '  I  hope  my  brother 
will  return  soon.  I  wish  I  had  him  here  to  pray  with 
me ;  and  yet  I  am  sorry  for  him,  because  he  appears 
to  be  so  soriy  for  me.  I  know  he  will  pray  for  me  at 
home,  but  I  don't  hear  him ;  I  need  some  one  to 
keep  me  in  mind  of  duty ;  I  am  not  able  to  pray  for 
myself.' 

In  the  evening  a  brother  asked  if  she  could  listen  to 
a  chapter  of  the  Bible. 

'  I  shoidd  like  to  hear  one  very  much,  biit  not  now. 
I  am  suffering  great  pain,  and  cannot  give  undi\dded 
attention.  When  God's  word  is  read,  I  wish  to  be 
edified  by  it.' 

An  opiate  having  been  administered,  she  requested 
that  the  scriptures  should  now  be  read  to  her,  as  she 
thought  she  could  listen. 


TUE  RISE  OF  FAITU.  173 

^  Read  to  me,'  she  said,  '  the  fifty-first  Psahn.' 
She  listened  with  great  interest  to  its  penitential 
strains,  and  then  asked  for  her  hymn  book.  At  her 
request  the  following  hymn  was  read ;  it  became  witli 
her  a  great  favourite ;  she  committed  it  to  memory, 
and  often  during  the  long  nights  of  suffering  was  over- 
heard repeating  it — ■ 

'  My  Father  knows  my  feeble  frame  ; 
He  knows  how  poor  a  worm  I  am — 

Untold,  he  knows  it  all. 
The  least  temptation  serves  to  draw 
My  footsteps  from  my  Father's  law, 

And  makes  me  slide  and  falL 

*  Of  this  I  give  him  daily  proof, 
And  yet  he  does  not  cast  me  off. 

But  owns  me  still  as  his  : 
He  spares — he  pities — he  forgives 
The  most  rebellious  child  that  lives; 

So  great  his  patience  is. 

"■  And  shall  I  then  a  pretext  draw 
Again  to  violate  his  law  ? 

My  soul  revolts  at  this : 
I'll  love,  and  wonder,  and  adore, 
And  beg  that  I  may  sin  no  more 

Against  such  love  as  this. 

'O  love  divine!  eternal  source 

Of  good  to  man,  I  mark  thy  course — 

I  mark  it  with  delight. 
To  Bethlehem  I  follow  thee. 
And  there  the  wondrous  babe  I  see — 

A  cheering,  glorious  sight. 

*  I  trace  thee  thence  to  Calvary, 
And  there  the  Man  of  sorrows  see, 

His  body  bathed  in  blood. 


]  74  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

The  stream  I  followed  from  its  source 
Now  pours  with  a  resistless  force, 
A  rapid,  swelling  flood. 

'  Its  waters  health  and  healing  bring, 
They  make  the  waste  rejoice  and  sing ; 
Their  progress  thus  we  trace  : 
»  They  pour  their  virtues  through  the  earth, 

They  fill  the  world  with  sacred  mirth, 
And  gladden  every  place.' 

It  was  now  noticeable  that  the  introduction  of 
religious  subjects  w^as  made  by  herself.  Formerly 
they  had  to  be  suggested  by  others.  It  does  not 
appear,  however,  that  as  yet  she  had  any  idea  of 
the  probable  termination  to  her  illness.  Her  sponta- 
neous references  to  death  and  its  realities  were  rather 
indications  of  a  mind  chastened  by  long  affliction  into 
a  sort  of  relish  for  christian  sympathy,  and  into  a 
habitual  communion  with  serious  truths.  God  thus 
prepared  her  to  receive  the  intelligence  wdiich  before 
another  sun  had  set  was  at  length  certified  to  her. 

July  3,  Tuesday. — Immediately  after  Dr  Aber- 
crombie's  visit  this  morning  she  was  observed  to  be 
much  agitated,  and  when  asked  for  the  cause  of  it, 
she  replied — 

'  O  my  dear  Wardlaw,  when  Dr  Abercrombie  was 
taking  leave  of  me  just  now,  I  overheard  him  telling 
nurse  just  to  give  me  anything  I  would  take,  and  he 
left  me,  saying,  "  Poor  child — poor  child,"  in  such  a 
melancholy  tone  that  makes  me  suspect  he  thinks  my 
complaints  incurable^ 


THE  EISE  OF  FAITH.  175 

She  spoke  with  a  fakering  voice,  weeping  all  the 
while.  This  was,  then,  the  first  time  that  she  realised 
the  issvie  of  her  illness.  Here  we  have  tlie  first  sick- 
ness of  hope,  and  the  first  trembling  of  its  wings — 'tis 
the  first  fall  in  the  notes  of  its  music,  and  the  first 
dirge  of  a  young  heart  over  darkening  prospects.  It 
is  painful  to  think  of  the  shock  she  now  sustained 
throughout  those  warm  affections  which  had  nestled 
on  endearing  objects,  but  which  now  took  alarm  lest 
they  should  soon  be  riven  asunder,  and  of  those  social 
sympathies  which  bound  her  to  life  and  the  world, 
now  and  quickly  relaxed  in  fear  of  their  speedy 
dissolution.  Every  tie  of  nature  and  friendship  now- 
thrilled  under  the  dreadful  announcement  of  their 
doom — 'Dust  thou  art.'  But  though  there  was 
this  decadency  of  her  expectations,  and  this  sudden 
rebuke  to  her  fond  wishes,  the  love  of  life  did  not  yet 
die,  and  even  the  hope  of  it  was  not  to  be  given  up 
without  another  struggle.  Just  at  this  juncture  a  kind 
Providence  so  ordered  it  that  one  of  her  earliest  friends 
called  for  the  first  time  since  her  illness  commenced. 
This  was  the  Rev.  Dr  Halley,  now  of  Troy  in  the 
United  States  of  America,  but  then  of  Leith.  When 
she  heard  that  he  was  in  the  house  she  was  much 
pleased,  and  prepared  to  receive  him.  In  a  few  minutes 
it  could  not  have  been  known  from  her  appearance 
that  her  heart  had  so  recently  been  loaded  with  a 
biu'den  so  heav}^  Dr  Halley  had  been  requested  to 
let  her  know,  now  that  she  had  got  over  the  first  shock 


176  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

of  fear,  that  there  was  no  hope  for  her,  and  that  she 
must  remove  her  affections  entirely  from  this  world, 
and  prepare  diligently  for  that  w^iich  was  coming. 
He  very  kindly  consented  to  do  so,  and  entered  her 
chamber  for  that  purpose.  She  gave  him  one  of  those 
sweet  smiles  which  had  so  often  sealed  other  lips  that 
w^ould  have  told  her  of  death  as  at  hand,  and  im- 
mediately commenced  to  converse  with  an  ease  and  self- 
command  which  at  once  encouraged  him  to  proceed. 

*  Have  your  friends.  Miss  Macfarlane,  or  your  phy- 
sicians, ever  made  you  aware  of  your  true  condition  V 

'No,'  she  replied,  'they  have  not.  What  do  they 
think?' 

'  It  is  a  painful  duty  to  discharge  ;  but  my  regard 
for  your  best  interests  binds  me  to  inform  you  that  your 
complaints  are  dangerous,  and  that  there  is  reason  to 
fear  that  you  may  not  be  long  in  the  land  of  the  living.' 

She  received  this  announcement  apparently  sur- 
prised, but  the  solitary  tear  that  dropped  upon  her 
pillow  was  the  only  sign  of  the  internal  tumult.  Dr 
Halley  followed  up  his  service  of  friendship  by 
most  appropriate  and  beautiful  remarks,  to  which 
she  listened  with  marked  interest.  The  interview 
was  altogether  so  impressive  that  I  shall  allow  Dr 
Halley  himself  to  narrate  it.  I  quote  from  a  letter 
which  he  sent  to  me  three  months  after  Agnes' 
death  : — 

'  Agnes  had  been  some  months  indisposed  before  I 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  177 

heard  of  her  illness.  When  at  last  1  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  it,  accompanied  with  the  notice  that  the 
symptoms  were  such  as  to  give  serious  alarm  to  her 
friends,  you  will  give  me  credit  when  I  say  that  I  felt 
most  deeply.  The  interest  that  I  have  in  the  welfare 
of  all  his  family,  arising  from  the  respect  that  I  che- 
rish to  the  memory  of  your  excellent  father,  was  in 
this  case  deepened,  if  possible,  from  the  fact  that 
Agnes  had  been  an  old  pu])il  of  mine,  and  gave  very 
early  indications  of  a  superior  intellect,  from  the  pro- 
ficiency which  she  made  in  all  her  branches  of  educa- 
tion. I  hesitated  for  some  time  after  my  knowledge 
of  her  illness  as  to  the  propriety  of  visiting ;  for  I 
knew  that  many  excellent  friends  of  your  late  father 
had  been  assiduous  in  their  attendance,  and  in  unfold- 
ing to  her  the  consolations  and  the  promises  of  the 
gospel.  Our  common  friend,  Mr  Arnot,  informed  me 
how  highly  she  was  gratified  when  any  friend  waited 
upon  her  and  conversed  with  her  upon  religious 
subjects;  and  fi'om  that  moment  I  was  resolved  to 
embrace  the  very  earliest  opportunity  of  seeing  her. 
The  first  time  that  I  saw  her  since  her  illness  was  on 
the  Tuesday  after  the  first  Sabbath  of  July.  Before 
I  went  into  her  room,  I  conversed  for  a  short  time 
with  your  brother  William.  I  then  learned  that  her 
medical  adviser  had  the  very  worst  apprehensions  as 
to  the  termination  of  her  complaint,  and  he  requested 
me  to  disclose  this  to  her  with  as  much  delicacy  and 

tenderness  as  I  could. 

h2 


1 78  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  When  I  saw  her,  my  dear  Sir,  much  as  I  laid  my 
account  with  the  alteration  that  disease  must  have 
made  in  her  countenance,  I  was  really  not  prepared 
for  the  great  change  that  had  taken  place.  Her 
countenance,  which  was  always  an  interesting  one, 
was  at  this  time  peculiarly  so  in  the  serenity  of  mind 
that  it  indicated,  while  her  eye,  instead  of  being 
quenched  with  trouble,  was  clear,  and  burned  with 
peculiar  brilliancy.  My  name  had  been  previously 
announced  to  her,  yet  when  I  went  in,  my  visit 
seemed  to  have  all  the  effect  of  a  joyful  surprise  upon 
her  mind,  and  she  expressed  the  deepest  gratitude 
to  me  for  coming  to  see  her.  After  what  I  learned 
from  your  brother  of  the  pleasure  she  felt  in  religious 
conversation,  and  saw  from  evidence  too  plain  to  be 
denied,  too  distressing  to  be  resisted,  that  her  con- 
tinuance in  this  world  could  not  in  all  probability  be 
long,  I  arrived  at  the  intention  of  my  visit  as  speedily 
as  possible.  In  these  circumstances,  experience  has 
hitherto  confirmed  me  in  the  practice,  that  the  best 
method  to  ascertain  the  spiritual  fi*ame  of  mind,  as 
well  as  the  nature  of  those  hopes  the  individual  has 
for  eternity,  is  by  py^oposing  questions  to  them.  In 
any  other  Avay  we  are  in  danger  of  keeping  to  vague 
generalities,  by  which  the  attention  may  not  be 
awakened  nor  the  conscience  aroused ;  but  when  the 
health  of  the  individual  permits,  I  have  often  found 
that  this  method  of  instruction  was  highly  edifying 
and  useful,  both  to  the  afflicted  person  and  to  the 


TIJE  RISE  OF  rAITlI.  179 

visitor.  It  was  in  tins  way  that  I  ct)ntlacted  my  first 
conversation  with  your  sister.  The  following  is  a  very 
imperfect  outline  of  a  visit  which,  from  the  interesting 
evidence  it  gave  me  of  the  existence  of  religious  prin- 
ciple in  her  mind,  I  shall  never  forget : — 

'After  a  few  general  questions,  I  ayked  her  if  she 
had  felt  the  consolations  of  the  gospel  under  her 
affliction. 

' "  My  experience,"  she  replied,  "  is  not  always  the 
same.  Sometimes  the  future  woi'ld  appears  to  me 
very  bright  and  sometimes  very  dark.  I  cannot 
always  say  with  David,  '  Yea,  though  I  walk  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil.' " 

'  It  w^as  at  this  time,  I  think,  that  she  made  the 
following  remark,  which  peculiarly  pleased  me  : — 

'  "We  must  not  judge  of  our  interest  in  Christ  only 
by  our  frame  of  mind.  We  may  have  religion  within 
us,  but  God,  for  good  reasons,  may  order  it  that  we 
should  not  at  all  times  alike  experience  its  consola- 
tions." 

'  I  asked  her  upon  whom  her  hopes  for  happiness  in 
another  world  were  built.  She  replied,  "  On  Jesus 
Christ  alone ;  for  '  this  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy 
of  all  acceptation,  that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners,  ei:en  the  cJdef.''" 

'It  was  at  this  stase  of  the  conversation  that  a 
slight  embarrassment,  which  she  seemingly  felt  in 
disclosing  the  state  of  her  experience,  was  entirely 
thrown   aside,  and  she  answered  afterwards  without 


180  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

the  least  reserve.  The  answers  that  she  made  led  us 
into  a  very  interesting  conversation  as  to  the  instances 
in  scripture  of  the  divine  forgiveness :  Manasseh, 
Paul,  Zaccheus — she  herself  added,  the  thief  upon 
the  cross,  and  Mary  Magdalene.  Her  mind  seemed 
to  be  full  of  astonishment  at  the  forbearance  of  God 
to  his  sinful  creatures,  and  the  invitations  and  en- 
couragements that  he  gave  to  them  to  come  to  him 
that  they  might  live ;  for,  said  she,  "  How  easily  can 
God  punish  us,  and  how  richly  we  deserve  punish- 
ment !  We  should  say.  It  is  of  the  Lord's  mercies 
that  we  are  spared,  and  because  his  tender  compassion 
fails  not."  This  naturally  led  us  to  the  prodigal  son  ; 
and  she  seemed  to  take  a  peculiar  delight  in  filling  up 
all  the  circumstances  that  went  to  aggravate  his 
ouilt,  that  the  indulgence  of  the  father  might  more 
strikingly  appear.  His  rashness  and  inexperience — 
his  ingratitude  and  his  prodigality — his  coming  home 
in  rags,  his  patrimony  all  squandered — yet  the  father 
saw  him  a  great  way  ofi^,  and  ran  and  fell  on  his  neck, 
and  kissed  him.  This  part  of  the  conversation  occupied 
a  considerable  time,  and  was  pursued  by  questions 
and  answers  that  have  now  escaped  my  memory — only 
I  remember  the  love  of  Christ  in  his  dying  for  us,  and 
the  encouragement  which  his  intercession  in  heaven 
should  give  us  to  come  to  God  to  obtain  mercy,  were 
particularly  dwelt  upon. 

'I  asked  if  she  thought  she  had  derived    benefit 
from  her  recent  affliction. 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  181 

' "  O  yes,"  she  replied ;  "  in  what  a  different  light 
does  the  world  appear  to  me  now  from  what  it  once 
did !  I  wish  some  of  my  companions  were  here,  who 
I  am  afraid  are  too  thoughtless,  and  they  would 
perhaps  learn  an  important  lesson.  Our  Saviour 
spoke  truly  when  he  said,  '  What  shall  it  profit  a  man 
though  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own 
soul?'" 

'  At  an  after  part  of  the  conversation  she  said — 

' "  How  much  reason  have  I  to  bless  God,  wdio 
has  thus  early  afflicted  me !  If  this  had  not  been  the 
case,  I  might  have  gone  on  in  carelessness,  and  never 
thought  of  another  world ;  but  this  has  taught  me  by 
experience  the  vanity  of  the  world,  and  the  necessity 
of  something  to  me  which  the  world  cannot  give." 

'  I  was  very  much  gratified  with  this  declaration, 
and  took  occasion  to  point  out  to  her  the  propriety, 
when  her  young  friends  came  to  see  her,  of  thus 
speaking  a  word  in  season,  which  might  be  blessed 
to  them.  I  asked  her  (for  I  cannot  remember  all 
the  circumstances  that  made  question  and  answer 
follow  each  other  regularly)  if  she  felt  a  pleasure  in 
prayer.  She  replied,  that  at  times  she  felt  a  very 
great  pleasm-e,  and  could  say  that  God  had  granted 
her  the  desire  of  her  lips  ;  at  other  times  she  felt  great 
despondency  and  distress.  This  led  us  to  observe  the 
wisdom  of  God  in  not  immediately  granting  us  what 
we  asked,  among  other  reasons,  that  the  delay  tends 
to  enhance  the  value  of  the  blessing. 


182  THE  NIGHT  LA31P. 

'  I  now  asked  her  how  she  felt  in  the  prospect  of 
death.  She  looked  at  me  very  steadily  after  I  had 
proposed  this  question.  I  then  considered  it  my  duty 
to  tell  her  that  while  the  power  of  God  was  all-suffi- 
cient, yet  that  there  were  circumstances  connected 
with  her  complaint  sufficient  to  justify  the  most  serious 
apprehensions  of  her  friends.  Her  countenance,  when 
I  made  this  statement,  indicated  rather  surprise  than 
alarm,  and  sprung,  as  she  immediately  told  me,  from 
the  fact,  that  none  of  her  friends  had  in  the  most  dis- 
tant manner  communicated  it  to  her.  I  told  her  that 
this  had  proceeded  from  fear  lest  any  announcement 
might  retard  her  recovery,  so  long  as  the  least  hope 
could  be  cherished.  She  was  satisfied.  "I  hope,"  said 
she,  "  God  will  be  merciful  to  me,  for  Christ's  sake." 

^  Our  conversation  here  was  of  a  most  interesting 
and  solemn  nature,  until,  fearing  that  she  might  over- 
fatigue herself,  I  proposed  to  pray  with  her,  which  I 
did,  and  said  I  would  embrace  an  early  opportunity 
of  seeing  her,  with  which  she  appeared  very  much 
gratified.' 

Dr  Halley  had  not  been  long  gone  when  she  sent  a 
message  by  her  nurse  to  her  brother  William,  that  he 
should  come  immediately  to  her. 

'  William,'  she  said,  as  he  sat  down  beside  her,  '  I 
think  Mr  Halley  has  spoken  to  me  very  judiciously. 
He  has  apprised  me  that  there  is  danger  in  my  com- 
plaint.    Now,  tell  me  at  once,  is  it  indeed  so  ?     Do  not 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  183 

fear  to  tell  me  that  I  aui  dying.  I  shall  now  suffer 
more  from  being  kept  in  suspense  than  if  I  am  told  the 
truth  at  once.  Oh  would  God  I  were  prepared  to 
die,  if  this  be  unto  death  ;  what  a  happy  change  !  But 
do  not  keep  me  any  longer  in  ignorance ;  it  is  a  great 
sin  to  do  so.' 

'  I  hope  you  are  ready  for  death,  Agnes,'  said  her 
brother. 

'I  do  not  know  if  I  am.  If  I  thought  I  were 
safe — ' 

'I  have  no  doubt,'  he  continued,  'but  that  God 
will  answer  the  prayers  of  youi*  dear  parents  wdio  are 
in  heaven.' 

'  I  hope  so,'  she  replied ;  '  but  no  man  can  answer 
for  his  brother :  each  must  bear  his  own  burden.' 

'  And  yet  it  is  comforting  to  know  that  the  promise 
is  to  the  parents,  and  to  their  seed  after  them.' 

'  Yes,  it  is.  If  I  were  assured  of  an  interest  in 
Christ,  what  is  there  in  all  this  world  to  make  me 
regret  leaving  if?  I  love  my  friends  here,  but  yonder 
I  have  also  many  dearer  to  me  still ;  and  if  I  were  to 
return  to  this  world,  I  fear  I  have  not  strengtli  to 
resist  temptation.  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  a  feeling 
of  vexation  at  the  thought  of  being  taken  from  this 
world.' 

Who  could  have  foretold  that  with  such  composure 
and  submission  this  first  solemn  intimation  of  her  ap- 
proaching death  would  have  been  met?  She  now 
became  somewhat  thoughtful.     She  set  death  before 


184  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

her  mind  from  this  moment,  viewed  it  serionsly  in  all 
its  aspects,  and  made  diligent  preparation  to  meet  its 
stroke.  As  she  was  musing  thus,  she  turned  to  her 
brother  Wardlaw,  and  addressed  him  mth  considerable 
earnestness  on  the  subject,  advising  him  to  be  religi- 
ous before  the  hour  of  death  had  struck.  She  said — 
'  When  I  try  now  to  think  of  good  things,  pain  often 
prevents  me.  And  so  I  am  dying;  I  am  to  leave  you 
all.  Well,  we  read  in  the  Bible  of  children  being 
punished  for  their  parents'  sins ;  as  for  me,  I  suffer 
for  my  own  sins^ 

Words  of  comfort  were  administered,  but  her  effort 
to  rise  above  nature  was  gro^vdng  weak,  and  the 
shadows  of  fear  began  again  to  fall.  She  longed  for 
some  one  who  might  support  her  fainting  heart,  and 
wished  that  I  had  been  with  her  at  such  an  hour  as 
this.  And  again  did  the  Lord  God  of  her  fathers 
mercifiilly  interpose  on  her  behalf,  and  sent  to  her 
without  doubt  the  most  appropriate  comforter  she 
could  have  received  from  among  the  children  of  men. 
Just  at  this  time  the  venerable  Mr  Brown  of  Inver- 
keithing  came  to  visit  the  daughter  of  his  friend. 
When  she  was  told  who  it  was  that  was  in  the  dining 
room,  she  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  upwards,  her  face 
beamed  with  joy,  and  her  lips  uttered  praise. 

'  Were  you  speaking?'  asked  the  attendant. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  she  replied,  '  I  was  thanking  God  for 
sending  good  Mr  Brown  to  me  at  such  a  crisis  as  this 
has  been.' 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  185 

It  was  truly  aflPecting  to  witness  the  interview 
between  this  devout  saint — this  man  of  God — and 
the  dying  maiden.  Though  bending  under  the 
weight  of  years,  he  was  still  able  to  go  about  and 
do  good ;  and  hearing  that  Agnes  was  on  her  death- 
bed, his  spirit  liad  been  moved  to  come  and  visit 
her  with  the  consolations  of  the  gospel.  His  pe- 
culiarly pleasing  countenance  was  shaded  a  little, 
from  a  strong  feeling  of  spnpathy  with  the  gentle 
sufferer ;  and  the  deep  and  mellow  tones  of  his  fine 
voice  were  rather  tremulous  and  low  as  he  addressed 
her  in  his  usual  simple  but  delightful  strain.  To  de- 
tail the  minutiffi  of  the  scene  is  impossible,  but  surely 
the  blessing  of  God  was  in  it.  She  listened  to  him 
with  intense  eagerness,  as  if  salvation  flowed  from  his 
lips,  and  drank  in  every  word  as  if  her  spirit  were 
quaffing  the  nectar  of  heaven.  As  he  arose  to  de- 
part, he  held  her  hand  in  his,  and  said  with  much 
feeling — 

'  I  remember  some  of  the  last  words  of  your  father 
to  me.  When  I  was  bidding  him  farewell,  I  remarked 
that  I  had  kept  him  speaking  too  long.  ""  O  no,"  he 
said ;  "  but  I  have  just  one  word  more  to  say  to  you, 
Mr  Brown,  and  that  is,  when  you  are  at  the  throne  of 
grace,  remember  my  dear  children." ' 

'  I  am  sure  you  have  done  so,'  said  Agnes,  inter- 
rupting him. 

'  I  have  tried  to  do  it,'  replied  Mr  Brown,  *  and  if 
you  please,  I  will  do  it  just  now.' 


186  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

He  then  offered  up  such  a  prayer  as  he  only  could 
present,  and  every  one  felt  that  they  were  carried  with 
him  into  the  very  presence  of  God. 

'  Farewell,'  he  said  to  her ;  '  the  Lord  he  with  you.' 

'  T  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  heaven,'  she  was  overheard 
saying,  as  he  disappeared. 

This  merciful  visitation  had  a  pleasant  effect  upon 
her.  The  clouds  that  had  threatened  to  gather  Avere 
for  the  time  cUspersed.  She  was  quite  composed,  and 
though  much  exhausted  x^itli  the  forenoon's  exciting 
scenes  and  revelations,  she  occasionally  conversed  with 
the  nurse  upon  serious  subjects.  It  was  remarkable 
how  quickly  she  took  to  herself  the  warnings  of  that 
day.  She  seemed  to  act  as  if  not  another  moment 
could  be  lost,  and  at  once  began  to  '  set  her  house  in 
order.'  Among  other  little  things  that  engaged  her 
attention  this  afternoon  was  the  finishing  of  some 
fancy  paper  ornaments  which  she  had  begun  for  her 
own  amusement  in  June.  These  she  gave  to  one 
of  her  brothers,  and  desired  him  to  take  them  to 
two  young  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  whom  she 
now  feared  were  more  gay  than  thoughtful.  '  Tell 
them,'  she  said,  '  that  these  will  be  the  last  tokens 
of  friendship  they  can  receive  from  me  ;  perhaps 
they  will  keep  them  for  my  sake,  as  they  are 
likely  to  see  me  no  more.'  Tov^ards  the  evening  lier 
mind  began  again  to  be  sore  vexed ;  a  sense  of  her 
awful  situation  pressed  hard  upon  her,  and  she  was 
often  found  in  tears.     Tliis  mental  distress  increased 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  187 

£^eatly  as  tlic  night  advanced ;  alarm  seized  hold  of 
her  spirit,  and  her  cries  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
became  constant  and  importunate.  She  implored 
them  to  send  for  me  to  come  without  delay. 

'  O  tell  him  to  come  quickly,'  she  cried.  '  Tell  him 
I  am  dying,  that  I  am  afraid  to  die,  and  that  I  am  not 
ready  for  death.  Tell  him  to  come  and  pray  for  me 
and  with  me,  and  to  fru-nish  my  mind  with  proper 
subjects  for  meditation  and  for  prayer  when  I  am  left 
alone.  '  O  it  is  a  serious,  awful  thing  to  die !  Pray  you 
for  me  now,'  said  she,  turning  to  her  brother  William, 
who  was  standing  beside  her.  '  God  says,  "  Where 
two  or  three  are  met  together  in  my  name,  there  I 
am."     This  is  a  cheering  promise.' 

A  prayer  was  then  presented  on  her  behalf,  which 
seemed  to  afford  her  some  relief.  When  it  was  finished, 
she  looked  to  her  youngest  brother,  and  said  to  him, 
'  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you,  Andrew ;  but  if  I  were  sure 
of  heaven,  and  that  you  would  follow,  I  could  die  to- 
night. I  hope  Jesus  will  pardon  all  my  sins,  and 
make  me  one  of  his  disciples.  O,  Andi'ew,  what  must 
be  the  pains  of  hell !' 

Such  is  a  faint  outline  of  this  day's  proceedings,  in 
which  the  goodness  of  God  cannot  be  misapprehended 
in  the  mode  by  which  she  was  made  aware  of  her 
danger.  We  have  seen  how  she  was  in  part  prepared 
for  the  worst,  first  of  all,  by  the  expressions  of  affec- 
tionate sympathy  that  fell  from  Dr  Abercrombie — 
then  came  Dr  Halley's  seasonable  intimation  to  her, 


188  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

that  there  was  little  if  any  hope  of  her  recovery — and, 
then,  as  if  he  had  been  an  angel  from  heaven  sent  to 
apply  the  balm  of  comfort  to  lier  wounded  spirit, 
came  the  aged  servant  of  Christ  with  whom  were 
bound  up  her  finest  and  fondest  associations  with  the 
happy  days  of  girlhood.  Thus  did  the  Lord  take  into 
his  own  hands  the  task  before  which  we  had  shrunk, 
and  in  this  unexpected  manner  announce  her  ap- 
proaching end.  Had  we  known  that  she  could  have 
received  the  intelligence  with  so  much  fortitude,  or 
had  we  trusted  more  to  the  grace  of  God  to  support 
and  comfort  her,  it  might  have  been  done  sooner. 
How  tlie  silent  watches  of  this  night  were  passed,  when 
she  was  left  alone  with  her  nurse,  we  know  not — 
though,  from  what  was  afterwards  noticed  in  her 
deportment,  it  may  be  said,  that  communion  ^^^th  God 
must  have  been,  to  a  great  extent,  her  resort  from  tlie 
agonies  of  natui'al  feeling.  No  doubt  some  of  her 
exercises  would  be  acutely  painful,  as  she  realised  to 
herself  the  cutting  short  of  her  days — the  farewell  to 
each  loved  friend  and  object — the  descent  of  the  body 
to  the  cold  grave,  and  the  flight  of  her  immortal  spirit 
to  God  who  gave  it.  But  her  principal  conflict  would 
be  with  the  fear  of  what  follows  death.  Up  to  this 
she  had  never  thought  of  'the  judgment-seat'  save 
as  in  the  distance ;  and  having  not  the  impression  of 
being  soon  before  it,  she  had  not  examined  herself  as 
to  what  might  be  her  sentence  from  thence.  But 
now  the  terrors  of  the  law — the  accusations  of  con- 


TflE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  189 

science — the  dread  of  eternal  ruin — would  all  bear 
down  u})on  her  in  dread  attack,  and  upheave  the 
deepest  emotions  of  her  soul.  Such  were  my  convic- 
tions when  a  letter  reached  me  on  this  same  evening 
informing  me  of  what  had  taken  place,  and  summon- 
ing me  to  her  bedside,  to  pour  the  oil  of  the  gospel 
upon  the  tumults  of  that  awakened  and  alarmed  spirit. 
I  hastened  to  Edinburgh  by  the  first  steam-boat  on 
the  following  day. 

July  4,  Wednesday. — The  morning  was  dull 
and  lowering  as  I  stepped  from  the  boat  upon  the 
chain-pier  at  Newhaven,  and  the  beautifully-cultivated 
walk  up  to  the  capital  was  shaded  and  uninviting, 
— aHke  sad  and  melancholy  were  my  feelings  as  I 
wended  my  way  once  more  up  to  the  chamber  of  the 
d\ang.  I  was  now  to  see  her  under  very  different 
impressions.  She  knew  that  she  was  at  the  door  of 
death,  and  I  kncAV  that  she  knew  it.  I  cannot  tell 
how  it  was,  but  I  felt  more  than  ever  averse  to 
encounter  her  in  this  condition.  The  remembrance 
of  the  clouds  and  darkness,  the  unbelief  and  teiTors 
through  which  she  had  caused  me  to  pass,  indisposed 
me  for  a  repetition  of  such  a  scene.  I  naturally 
concluded  that  it  should  now  be  a  much  more  tempes- 
tuous one  than  before.  I  sent  for  the  nurse  on  mj' 
arrival,  who  told  me  that  Agnes  had  been  much 
worse  since  I  left,  and  that  she  did  not  think  she 
could  now  survive  very  long,  and  that  she  was  most 
anxious  to  see  me.     Once — twice  was  I  sent  for  ere 


190  THE  NIGHT  LAMP, 

. I  Acntured  into  her  room.  When  I  sat  down  beside 
her  I  was  almost  ovei'powered.  She  lay  in  the  posi- 
tion into  which,  after  the  restlessness  of  the  night,  she 
had  fallen,  and  out  of  which  she  could  not  as  yet  be 
lifted — her  head  was  down  near  to  the  centre  of  the 
bed,  and  her  face  was  half  concealed  by  the  pillow 
upon  which  her  head  lay.  The  expression  of  death 
was  in  her  eye,  which  now  lacked  much  of  its  wonted 
lustre,  and  feebly  did  she  lift  the  heavy  eyelid 
as  she  recognised  me.  It  was  a  silent  but  eloquent 
recognition.  As  I  took  her  passive  hand  in  mine, 
the  tears  trickled  down  her  wan  cheek,  and  all  she 
said  w^as— 

'  So,  John,  we  must  be  parted.' 

I  made  no  reply.  I  heard  her  sobbing;  and  for 
a  few  minutes  we  continued  silent.  Having  learned 
that  death  had  in  a  great  measure  lost  its  terrors  to 
her,  and  that  she  could  noAv  speak  of  her  departure 
without  midue  emotion,  I  at  length  referred  to  what 
had  been  chsclosed  to  her,  and  asked  if  she  Avas  still 
averse  to  die,  or  whether  she  was  willing  to  resign 
herself  into  the  hands  of  her  heavenly  Father. 

'  I  hope  I  am  willing,'  she  replied.  ^  When  I  was 
in  health  and  high  in  hopes  of  life,  I  viewed  death 
with  horror.  1  then  loved  the  world  and  the  things 
that  are  in  the  world,  and  could  not  think  of  leaving 
it.  I  feel  differently  now.  I  have  no  compunction 
at  leaving  it — nay,  I  do  not  wish  to  revisit  it,  for  I 
might  again  fall  a  prey  to  its  allurements.     Neither 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  191 

would  I  be  afraid 'to  die  if  I  were  only  sure  of  going 
to  heaven — O  I  trust  in  God  that  I  am  going  there!' 

'  You  are  perfectly  sure,'  I  rejoined,  '  of  going  to 
heaven  if  you  go  by  Christ — he  is  the  way,  the  truth, 
and  the  life;  and  no  man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but 
liy  him.' 

'  Well,  then,  all  my  confidence  is  in  the  free 
righteousness  of  Christ.' 

'  Then  you  are  safe — you  are  siu'e  of  heaven  Avhen 
you  die.' 

'  Do  you  then  think  it  possible  for  God  to  love  one 
who  remembers  so  little  of  his  holy  word  as  I  do  V 

'  God  is  willing  and  ready  to  pardon  all  sin  ;  and 
not  only  so,  but  to  love  the  true  penitent.  What  is 
this  that  he  says,  "I  will  be  merciful  to  their 
unrighteousnesses,  and  their  sins  and  their  iniquities 
I  will  remember  no  more ;"  and,  "  Though  ye  have 
lien  among  the  pots,  yet  shall  ye  be  as  the  wings  of 
a  dove  covered  with  silver,  and  her  feathers  with 
yellow  gold."  ' 

There  was  one  hopeful  sign  in  her  spiritual  experi- 
ences at  this  time,  and  onward  to  the  hoiu'  of  death. 
She  was  more  easily  drawn  away  from  herself,  and 
made  to  rest  on  Christ.  She  tried  to  look  unto  him 
and  be  saved,  to  behold  the  Lamb  of  God  as  slain  fi:om 
the  foundation  of  the  world  for  her,  and  to  glory  in  his 
righteousness,  and  in  his  only.  Her  views  of  that 
'  righteousness '  were  full  and  correct.  She  could 
analyse  its  properties,  and  trace  its  connections  with 


192  THE  XIGHT  LAMP. 

her  own  legal  and  spiritual  needs.  Hence,  when  ques- 
tioned concerning  her  obligations  to  the  Saviour,  she 
did  not  confine  her  reply  to  his  death  on  the  cross,  but 
included  also  his  life  in  the  flesh.  She  saw  distinctly 
wdiat  she,  as  a  gmilty  and  undone  sinner,  had  not  done, 
and  could  not  do,  and  what  he,  as  a  substitute,  had 
done,  and  alone  could  do.  She  owned  that  Jesus 
lived  for  sinners  more  than  thirty  years  among  men, 
placed  himself  raider  his  own  law  as  the  rule  of  his 
o^vn  conduct,  and  obeyed  it  to  the  very  letter,  magni- 
fying it,  and  making  it  honourable.  This  gi-eatly  in- 
creased her  delight  in  him,  because  she  felt  her  own 
incapabihties  for  obeying  that  law,  and  yet  knew  that 
she  was  as  much  bound  as  ever  to  keep  it  perfectly. 
Thus,  when  she  became  conscious  that  the  demands 
of  the  law  had  never  been  met  by  her,  she  instantly 
resorted  by  faith  to  the  ohedience  of  the  sinner's  sui'ety, 
and  knew^  that  this  was  an  obedience  which  she  might 
offer  in  lieu  of  what  she  was  bound  to  yield.  She 
gloried,  therefore,  in  the  life  of  Christ.  But  she 
also  gloried  in  his  cross.  Having  sinned,  she  felt 
that  she  was  '  condemned  already  ;^  but  Christ  having 
'  died,  the  just  for  the  ruijust,'  she  was  comforted  with 
the  thought  that  the  penalty  due  to  her  personal 
transgressions  was  paid  in  his  thus  being  'obedient 
unto  death.'  This  life  and  this  death  of  the  Son  of 
God  were  the  elements  of  that  righteousness  of  Jesus 
in  which  she  affinned  all  her  hopes  were  fomided. 
Hence  the  delight  she  took  in  those  passages  of  scrip- 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  193 

ture  which  brought  out  the  doctrine  of  the  suitableness 
of  the  atonement,  and  which  connected  its  mysterious 
efficacy  with  the  sins  of  men.  The  fifty-third  chapter 
of  Isaiah  was  to  her,  as  it  is  to  every  well-ordered 
mind,  'a  lamp'  and  'a  light,'  especially  these  verses  : 
'  Siu'ely  he  hath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our 
sorrows :  yet  we  did  esteem  him  stricken,  smitten  of 
God,  and  aflSicted.  But  he  was  wounded  for  our 
transgressions ;  he  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities  :  the 
chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon  him  ;  and  with 
his  stripes  we  are  healed.'  Similar  enjoyment  did 
she  now  derive  from  Paul's  sublime  advocacy,  in  his 
epistles  to  the  Romans  and  Galatians,  of  the  doctrine 
of  justification  by  faith  alone,  and  not  by  the  works  of 
the  law.  Her  whole  consolation,  in  short,  as  a  sinner, 
was  obtained  not  only  by  confessing  Christ,  but  by  con- 
tin  n  ally  studying  his  personal  character  and  work.  He 
became  all  her  '  salvation,  and  all  her  desire.'  Other 
topics  might  occasionally  be  introduced ;  the  lives  of 
good  men  and  pious  females  might  be  adverted  to ; 
the  holy  walk  of  the  patriarchs  might  be  described ; 
but  in  the  end  she  fell  back  upon  Christ,  to  think 
more  about  him,  to  become  more  intimately  and  per- 
sonally acquainted  "svith  him,  to  be  swallowed  up  of 
love  and  admiration  of  him.  And  indeed  this  is  the 
tnie  and  siu*e  way  to  know  his  preciousness,  and  to 
feel  the  power  of  his  redeeming  love.  * 

'  It  is  a  growing  conviction  in  my  mind,'  to  use  the 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chaps,  v  vj   vii. 
r 


194  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

beautiful  language  of  Dr  John  Brown,  that  '-vatal 
and  influential  Christianity  consists  much  more  than 
is  ordinarily  apprehended  in  an  intimate  personal  ac- 
quaintance and  friendship  with  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
He  is  the  great  revealer  of  God;  he  is  the  revealed 
divinity.  The  man  knows  the  Father  who  knows  the 
Son — that  man  alone  knows  the  Father.  Christ  him- 
self is  "  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life ;"  and  it  is 
only  in  so  far  as  we  really  know  and  love  him,  that 
we  are  in  "  the  way,"  or  that  "  the  truth''  and  "  the 
life"  are  in  us.'* 

While  thus  engaged,  a  sore  paroxysm  of  pain  came 
upon  her,  and  she  exclaimed  Avith  some  force — 

'  O  God  !  relieve  me  from  this  awful  pain,  if  it  be 
thy  -sAall ;  if  not,  thy  will  be  done.' 

Having  obtained  some  relief  from  suffering,  she 
resumed  the  conversation.  She  was  much  comforted 
with  the  thought  that  her  sufferings  were  not  penal, 
but  paternal — that  they  were  proofs  of  God's  love, 
not  of  his  wrath — that  they  were  only  temporary — 
and  that  they  were  of  a  purifying  efficacy.  I  endea- 
voured to  show  her  that  as  God's  children  were  not  to 
suffer  any  more  after  death,  so  it  was  proper  that  they 
should  fill  up  their  due  of  correction  here — that  it  is 
probable  that  every  sin,  even  though  committed  by  the 
redeemed  of  the  Lord,  has  its  appropriate  pmiishment : 
and  that  therefore  here  we  ought  to  be  content  to  bear 

*  '  Discourses  and  Sayings  of  our  Lord  Illustrated  in  a  Series  of  Expo- 
sitions.'    By  John  Brown,  D.D. 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  195 

tlie  rod.  Far  better  to  lead  a  life  here  of  even  miin- 
ten'upted  agony  and  have  the  '  rest '  of  heaven  at  last, 
than  enjoy  health,  and  wealth,  and  peace  (the  wicked's 
peace)  on  earth,  and  the  despair  and  torment  of  lost 
souls  for  ever  and  ever.     She  said — 

'  It  is  indeed  infinitely  better.  O  for  the  gi-ace  of 
patience !' 

'  It  is  written,  Agnes,  for  your  encouragement,  "My 
grace  is  sufficient  for  thee ;  for  my  strength  is  made 
perfect  in  Aveakness."  ' 

'Lord,  I  believe !  help  mine  unbelief,'  was  her  prayer. 

After  a  considerable  pause,  her  eye  rested  upon  her 
album,  of  which  she  had  been  very  fond,  and  which 
had  withm  it  many  pleasing  reminiscences  of  early 
loves.  '  It  will  soon  be  another's  now,'  she  said,  and 
turned  away  her  look.  Alany  similar  allusions  to  what 
belonged  to  her  of  books  or  music,  of  ornaments  or 
jewelleiy,  were  very  affecting.  She  caused  them  all 
to  be  removed  out  of  her  sight  with  as  much  indiffer- 
ence as  if  they  had  never  been  prized.  After  a  little 
she  said — 

'  O  it  is  painful  to  me  to  think  that  you  "vWll  all 
soon  forget  me !' 

'  Never,'  said  one  of  her  brothers.     '  Impossible.' 

'  Ah,  but  I  know  it ;  'tis  just  the  way  of  this  world.' 

After  assuring  her  that  she  should  never  be  forgotten, 
I  asked  her  if  she  wished  any  farther  sersdce  before  we 
parted  for  the  night,  the  hour  being  now  late. 

'  Yes,  I  should  like  you  to  perform  family  worship 


19fi  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ill  my  room ;  and  when  you  pray,  be  sure  and  make 
me  the  subject  of  the  greatest  portion  of  your  prayer : 
it  affords  me  matter  for  meditation  during  the  long 
nights,  when  you  are  all  asleep.  One  thing  I  wish 
you  to  ask  for  me,  that  I  may  love  Jesus  more — that 
I  may  feel  in  my  heart  that  I  really  do  love  him.  I 
wish  to  love  him.  O,  I  wish  to  cling  to  my  Saviour- 
Lord!'  She  said  this  in  a  most  emphatic  tone,  and 
clasped  her  hands  together  as  she  instantly  added — 
'Alas  !  what  a  dead  heart  I  have !'     I  rejoined — 

'  True,  once,  not  noio,  Agnes.  Has  not  God  "made 
your  heart  soft"  by  affliction,  and  by  his  grace?  Has 
he  not  been  very  kind  to  you  in  bringing  yovir  will 
into  holy  acquiescence  with  his  OAvm?' 

'  God  has  indeed  been  very  kind  to  me,'  she 
answered,  '  in  sending  so  many  excellent  ministers 
\o  visit  me.  1  infer  from  this,  that  he  does  not  mean 
to  cast  me  ofF.' 

'  Surely  not ;  lie  will  be  your  God  and  guide  even 
unto  death,  and  after  death  your  exceeding  great 
reward.' 

'May  God  grant  it!' 

'  When  I  think,  my  dear  Agnes,  of  the  many  sor- 
rows and  trials  of  this  weary  pilgrimage,  and  contrast 
them  with  the  sublime  glory  and  eternal  beatitudes  of 
the  heavenly  Canaan,  I  wonder  not  at  a  good  man  of 
old  thus  praying,  "O  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove;  for 
then  would  I  fly  away,  and  be  at  rest !  I  would  hasten 
my  escape  from  the  windy  storm  and  tempest."  ' 


THE  KISE  OF  FAITK.  197 

She  pressed  my  hand,  and  with  a  sweet  smile  replied : 

'  No  wonder ;  he  might  well  so  pray.' 

Having  gone  through  the  ser\aces  of  family  devo- 
tion, I  bade  her  '  good  night ;'  but  what  kind  of  night 
she  passed  I  did  not  learn,  as  it  was  necessaiy  for  me 
to  leave  for  Kincardine  very  early  the  next  morning. 
Thus,  then,  passed  another  interview — very  different 
indeed  from  all  former  ones.  Her  manner  had  under- 
gone an  entire  change.  There  was  about  it  something 
so  serious  and  imposing  as  almost  commanded  our 
reverence.  One  remark  is  indispensable :  she  was 
much  more  reserved  in  conversation  with  me.  She 
spoke  comparatively  little,  and  seemed  to  think  that  it 
was  her  duty  to  keep  silence  and  get  instruction.  To 
my  deep  regret,  this  continued  to  the  last.  To  her 
brothers,  in  my  absence,  she  w^as  very  comnuinicative ; 
and  often  in  their  presence  seemed  to  lose  poAver  of  self- 
control,  giving  A'ent  to  some  of  the  most  sublime  and 
impressive  outbursts  of  adoring  love  and  confidence. 
Not  one  of  these  I  was  ever  favoured  to  hear,  and  the 
others  were  always  so  oveqjoAvered  by  them — yea,  made 
to  stand  in  awe  before  her — that  they  could  neither 
take  down  her  language,  nor  remember  it  afterwards. 
Though  she  spoke  but  little  this  day  to  me,  it  was  not 
ditficult  to  perceive  that  she  had  begun  a  new^  work, 
and  that  she  was  doing  it  'with  all  her  might' — the 
work  of  preparation  for  eternity.  Unquestionably,  the 
greatest  part  of  her  soul's  communion  was  with  God ; 
and  when  silence  was  broken,  it  was  to  ask  an  explana- 


198  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

tion  of  some  difficulty  she  had  encountered  in  the 
course  of  her  cogitations.  Boldly  and  intensely  was 
she  now  occupied  in  the  study  of  what  constitutes  a 
safe  death ;  and  she  suffered  not  one  moment  to  be 
lost  which  was  allowed  to  her  when  relieved  from  pain. 
This,  indeed,  was  a  remarkable  feature  in  the  dying 
exercises  of  this  young  christian  to  her  closing  hours  ; 
and  it  is  exactly  what  might  have  been  expected  from 
her  early  training,  her  family  and  church  associations, 
her  natural  strength  of  mind,  and  her  ardent  tempera- 
ment. It  was  perhaps  better  for  her  that  I  did  not  see 
her  dmnng  this  week,  excepting  the  one  day  referred 
to.  On  the  former  one,  we  had  exhausted  most  of  the 
subjects  appropriate  to  the  dying,  without  the  know- 
ledge, or  at  least  the  certainty,  on  her  part  that  such 
was  her  condition.  She,  however,  remembered  it  all ; 
she  ruminated  it  all  by  night  and  day ;  and  there  is 
every  reason  to  conclude  that  during  the  present  week, 
with  the  conviction  on  her  mind  that  she  was  soon  to 
die,  the  Spirit  of  God  eminently  blessed  it  all  to  her 
soul.  She  herself  unhesitatingly  affirmed  that  she 
came  forth  from  the  conflict  a  conv^ert  to  God.  It 
may,  or  it  may  not  be  so ;  but  beyond  doubt  it  was 
blessed  to  her  in  the  way  of  strengthening  her  faith, 
brightening  her  prospects,  and  estabhshing  her  trust 
in  Jesus  Christ. 

Was  Agnes,  then,  noto  pious?  Was  she  indeed 
born  again  ?  and  had  she  now  received  the  Spirit  of 
adoption  ?     These  questions  must  be  answered  in  the 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  199 

nffirmative.     She  herself  never  hesitated  about  dating 
her  conversion  from  this  period.     She  considered  tliat 
all  her  former  professions  of  Christianity  had  amounted 
only  to  formalism.     She  would  not  plead  guilty  to 
hypocrisy,  as  she  never  intended  to  deceive  her  fellow- 
creatures  ;  but  she  accused  herself  of  self-deception, 
and  of  ha^'ing  mistaken  the  mere  knowledge  of  the 
truth,  and  a  friendly  feeling  towards  it,  for  religion 
itself — for  the  pure,  spiritual,  God-given  principle  of 
vital  faith.     When  reflecting  on  the  dano;er  she  had 
escaped,  she  was  full  of  the  praises  of  God,  who  had 
arrested  her  in  such  a  perilous  career,  and  made  the 
furaace  of  affliction  the  birth-place  of  her  soul.    When 
at  any  time  it  was  suggested  that  she  might  be  form- 
ing rather  an  unjust  estimate  of  her  former  state,  she 
at  once,  and   with  manifest  seriousness,  maintained 
her  position,  that,  whereas  hitherto  she  had  only  had 
a  name  to  live,  now  she  was,  and  never  till  now,  con- 
scious of  having  a  life-interest  in  the  blood  and  righte- 
ousness of  Jesus  Christ.     To  her  view,  the  world  had 
now  a  completely  different  aspect.     Sin  was  now  felt 
to  be  an  abominable  thing,  and  it  was  hated ;  and  the 
'  one  thing  needful'  was  laid  hold  of  by  her  very  heart 
of  hearts,  and  doated  over  and  prized  as  a  found  trea- 
sm'e,  far  more  precious,  she  said,  than  health  or  wealth, 
than  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  worlds.    Above 
all,  Jesus  Christ  was  to  her  now  what  he  never 
was  before,  precious  as  a  Saviour  from  sin — not  only 
fi'om  the  curse  and  consequences,  but  from  the  pollu- 


200  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

tion  and  power  of  sin.  To  her  he  became  the  '  chief 
among  ten  thousand  and  altogether  lovely.'  When- 
ever his  name  was  mentioned,  her  expression  changed, 
it  may  be  from  the  repose  of  trust  to  the  smile  of  rap- 
turous joy  ;  and  many,  many  were  the  truly  beautiful 
and  even  eloquent  perorations  in  his  praises  with  which 
some  of  her  heavenly  passages  were  concluded. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  thought  that  this  was  rather 
the  development  or  maturity  than  the  commencement 
of  piety  in  the  soul  of  Agnes;  that  the  change  was  too 
gi'eat  and  sudden  to  have  been  of  such  recent  produc- 
tion ;  and  that  the  mere  circumstance  of  her  severe 
and  prolonged  sufferings,  connected  with  the  fact  that 
the  probability  of  their  fatal  termination  had  been 
just  announced  to  her,  is  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
rapid  growth  of  devout  feeling  and  genuine  faith  in 
her  soul.  This,  however,  cannot  be  the  explanation. 
Conversion  is  always  sudden  or  instantaneous.  It  takes 
place  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Sin- 
ful man  can  only  be  in  one  of  two  states  at  the  same 
time.  He  cannot  be  both  dead  and  alive,  or  both 
under  the  law  and  mider  grace.  If  he  be  under  the 
law  he  is  '  condemned,'  but  if  under  grace,  \justified.^ 
At  the  moment  of  his  conversion,  whether  it  take 
place  in  infancy,  childhood,  manhood,  or  old  age,  he 
becomes  a  child  of  God.  It  is  confessedly  impossible 
to  conceive  of  restitution  from  death  to  life  as  being 
the  result  of  a  slow  process  in  Avhich  death  is  not 
actually  recovered  from,   nor   life    actually  restored. 


THE  KISE  OF  FAITH.  201 

Equally  impossible  is  it  to  conceive  of  the  soul's  tran- 
sition from  spiritual  deatli  to  spiritual  life  as  of  gra- 
dual operation.  It  is  just  in  this  matter  as  it  was  in 
the  morning  of  creation.  God  has  only  to  say,  '  Let 
there  be  light,'  and  there  is  light.  The  conversion  of 
Paul  is  an  illustration  of  this.  In  the  one  moment  he 
was  the  malignant  enemy  of  the  cross  and  its  follow- 
ers, and,  in  the  next,  the  most  devoted  and  magnani- 
mous friend  and  advocate  of  both.  The  thief  upon 
the  cross  is  another  ilkistration.  But  now  he  reviles 
the  dying  Saviour,  and,  in  another  second,  his  happy 
spirit  speeds  its  way,  as  a  grand  trophy  of  Calvary's 
victory,  in  company  with  the  Conqueror  himself,  into 
God's  immediate  presence.  Such  like,  indeed,  is  the 
nature  of  every  conversion.  The  fruits  thereof  are 
certainly  not  so  quickly  palpable,  but  the  change  itself 
on  the  natrire  of  the  sinner  is  equally  instantaneous. 

The  idea  that  the  change  called  '  conversion,'  or  '  the 
new  birth,'  is  too  vast  to  be  accomplished  all  at  once, 
seems  to  arise  from  confoundmg  the  work  of  sanctifi- 
cation  with  the  act  of  regeneration.  The  two  thini>;s 
are  certainly  inseparable,  but  at  the  same  time  dis- 
tinct. The  birth  of  an  infant  is  one  thing,  its  subse- 
quent gro^^i:h  of  body  and  mind  is  another.  The 
Bible  speaks  of  '  babes  in  Christ,'  and  of  these  babes 
rising  up  to  '  the  stature  of  perfect  men  in  him.'  In 
this  view  of  the  doctrine,  we  have  a  perfectly  consis- 
tent representation  of  what  Agnes  considered  to  have 

been  accomplished    in    her    soul    at   this  interesting 

I  2 


202  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

period  of  her  life ;  and  the  rapid  and  glowing  expan- 
sion of  spiritual  sentiments  and  desires  within  her  are 
to  be  regarded  as  the  sanctifying  work  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Every  conversion  is  supernatural.  The  sons 
of  God  are  every  one  of  them  '  born  not  of  blood,  nor 
of  the  will  of  the  flesh,  nor  of  the  will  of  man,  but  of 
God.''  This  spiritual  birth,  however,  may  have  less  of 
the  appearance  of  its  divine  origin  at  one  time  than  at 
others ;  when,  for  example,  the  life  of  piety  is  seen 
gradually  to  grow  out  of  the  regular  and  habitual  rise 
of  what  are  called  '  the  means  of  grace.'  The  conver- 
sion of  the  Hottentot  is  more  sm^prising  than  that  of 
the  child  of  many  prayers  and  much  pious  nurtiu'e 
and  admonition,  though  both  are  alike  divine  in  their 
cause.  When  the  Spu'it  of  God,  therefore,  comes  to 
convert  such  a  privileged  person  as  Agnes  had  been, 
we  need  not  wonder  that  ^^^th  all  the  divinely-ap- 
pointed materials  lying,  so  to  speak,  to  his  hand — such 
as  Christ  in  the  truth — the  intellectual  appreciation  of 
Christ  in  the  truth — the  disposition  to  regard  Christ 
in  the  truth  as  the  divine  Saviour — and  even  the  for- 
mal acknowledgment  of  Christ  in  the  truth  as  her 
Lord  and  Mediator — materials,  every  one  of  which 
may  be  in  existence,  though  as  yet  the  vital  spark  has 
not  fallen  to  vivify  and  organise  them.  In  such  a  case, 
we  need  not  wonder  if,  almost  immediately  on  her 
having  received  the  Holy  Ghost,  her  sanctification 
appears  in  a  forward,  and  flouiishmg,  and  hopeful 
condition.     Everything  was  ready;  nature,  education. 


THE  RISE  OF  FAITH.  203 

the  world,  the  Bible,  and  religious  ordinances  had  all 
done  their  utmost ;  and  by  the  time  she  was  placed 
in  the  furnace,  she  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  chris- 
tian— the  polished  marble  of  the  mere  statue — all  the 
dead  materials,  in  short,  of  the  future  temple  whicli, 
on  the  descent  of  the  di^ane  afflatus,  was  lighted  up 
with  the  beauties  of  holiness,  and  consecrated  there- 
after to  the  service  and  gloiy  of  her  redeeming 
Lord.* 

'  Can  aught  beneath  a  power  divine 

The  stubborn  will  subdue  ? 
'Tis  thine,  Eternal  Spirit,  thine 

To  form  the  heart  anew. 

'  'Tis  thine  the  passions  to  recall, 

And  upwards  bid  them  rise, 
And  make  the  scales  of  error  fall 

From  Reason's  darkened  eyes. 

•'  To  chase  the  shades  of  death  away, 

And  bid  the  sinner  live  ; 
A  beam  of  heaven — a  vital  ray— 

'Tis  thine  alone  to  give.' 


See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chaps,  viii.  ix. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


2EfjE   fflrrflintlf  ai  (Srace. 


'  Cheer  up  your  souls ; 
Calmness  will  lead  to  Hope,  and  Hope  to  Faith, 
And  Faith  unto  that  awful  happiness 
That  walks  unquaking  through  the  shades  of  death, 
Triumphant  over  Nature's  agony.' 

John  Wilson. 


'  For  a  long  time/  said  Agnes  to  one  of  her  brothers 
on  the  forenoon  of  next  day  (Thursday,  5th  July),  'T 
could  not  look  but  with  terror  on  the  cold,  cold  grave, 
far  away  from  all  I  love.  But  now,  through  the  rich 
grace  of  God,  I  have  few  fears.  I  rejoice  that  my 
doubts  are  dispelled,  and  that  I  am  not  tempted,  as 
many  saints  have  been.  Even  my  father  had  his  dark 
hour ;  but  he  had  a  strong  mind  to  bear  him  up, 
whereas  I  have  a  weak  understanding,  and  am  too 
great  a  sinner  to  have  resisted  long.  Surely  God  has 
been  very  mei'cifal  to  me.  I  should  like  to  hear  you 
read  again  that  h}ann  on  Faith.  No,  rather  read 
to  me  a  chapter  from  the  Word  of  God ;  I  fear  I  am 
sinning  in  preferi'ing  any  book  to  the  Bible,  which  is 
the  best  of  all  books.' 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  205 

While  thus  engaged,  she  was  told  that  her  aunt, 
Mrs  Captain  Wardlaw,  had  arrived.  She  received 
her  with  affectionate  interest,  and  conversed  fi-eely 
with  her  upon  the  subject  that  was  now  uppermost  in 
her  mind.  Mrs  Wardlaw  told  her  that  her  son 
John  was  with  her,  and  asked  if  she  had  any  objec- 
tions to  see  him.  She  said,  'I  have  none.  There 
is  no  need  for  any  delicacy  in  admitting  young  people 
to  see  me  now,  when  it  is  known  that  I  am  dying. 
For  a  while  after  I  first  dreaded  danger,  I  was  anxious 
to  live  and  enjoy  a  little  more  of  the  world  with  you 
all ;  but  I  tremble  now  at  the  very  idea  of  a  return  to 
it.  I  desire  to  be  resigned  to  the  will  of  God  ;  but  as 
I  have  no  confidence  in  my  own  resolution,  and  might 
return  to  sinful  courses,  I  would  rather  "  depart,  and 
be  with  Christ,  which  is  far  better."  ' 

Excited  and  fatigued  by  this  interview,  she  was  left 
to  obtain  some  repose ;  and  when  asked  by  a  brother 
in  the  evening  if  she  had  got  any  sleep,  she  replied — • 

'  No  ;  no  sleep  now,  George,  without  an  opiate  night 
and  day.  I  feel  somewhat  easier  at  present,  but  I 
suffer  much.  May  your  death-bed  be  easier  than 
mine  !  O  that  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  would  relieve 
me  fi'ora  pain,  for  the  few  days  I  have  to  live !  Never- 
theless I  await  his  pleasure.' 

She  had  been  for  some  time  in  the  habit  of  com- 
mitting to  memory  every  day  a  verse  from  the  Bible 
with  her  brother  William,  to  whom  she  said : 

'  As  long  as  I  am  able,  I  will  learn  my  daily  verse 


206  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

with  you ;  but  I  fear  that  will  not  be  long.  O  how  I 
now  regret  that  I  know  so  little  of  the  contents  of  that 
blessed  book ! ' 

It  is  assuredly  in  the  view  of  eternity  that  the  Bible, 
as  well  as  every  other  gracious  privilege,  is  seen  to 
most  advantage.  However  indifferently  we  may  have 
attended  to  its  promises  and  its  doctrines  wdien  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  healtli  and  hope,  they  seldom  fail  in 
the  end  to  receive  from  us  then'  merited  estimation. 
The  soul  which  knows  eternity  to  be  near,  finds  no 
security  equal  to  that  given  by  the  word  of  the  Lord. 
After  comfort  from  this  divine  source,  it  never  fails 
earnestly  to  inquu'e ;  all  other  refuges  are  found  to  be 
lies,  and  one  promise  fi'om  the  holy  oracles  has  more 
weight  than  all  the  worldly  comforts  which  can  be 
offered.  By  neglecting  to  read  this  book,  and  to 
furnish  the  mind  with  its  pi-ecious  instruction,  many, 
when  they  come  to  die,  find  themselves  wandering,  as 
it  were,  without  a  guide.  They  are  in  darkness,  and 
they  cannot  find  a  lamp ;  they  are  in  the  swellings  of 
conscience,  but  they  have  no  oil  wherewith  to  smooth 
down  those  dark  and  stormy  waters ;  they  are  driven 
to  and  fro  upon  a  sea  of  doubts,  but  they  have  no  pilot 
to  assist  them  in  weathering  the  tempest,  and  bring 
them  into  a  haven  of  peace.  To  secm^e  to  ourselves 
all  the  advantages  of  a  correct  and  fiill  acquaint- 
ance with  scripture,  there  is  not  a  better  plan  than 
that  which  Agnes  adopted  when  she  was  dying,  viz., 
committing  to  memory  every  day  one  verse  at  least. 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  207 

Some  do  this  by  taldng  tlie  verses  in  the  order  of 
succession ;  but  it  would  be  better  to  select  passages 
fraught  with  consolation,  and  which  contain  the 
grounds  of  oui'  hope  tlu'ough  Christ's  blood.  It  would 
be  more  profitable,  for  instance,  to  learn  a  promise  of 
scripture  every  day,  than  take  the  risk  of  the  other, 
which,  we  believe,  is  the  American  plan,  but  which 
may  not  lodge  in  the  memory  more  than  one  or  two 
seasonable  and  suitable  passages  for  days,  or  even 
weeks.  If  the  christian  shovdd  live  to  old  age,  having 
thus  habituated  himself  from  his  youth,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  perceive  that  he  shall  become  the  possessor 
of  a  mine  of  comfort  which  will  render  him  not  only 
independent  of  the  attentions  of  others,  but  which 
will,  in  a  great  measure,  supply  the  loss  of  external 
sense,  and  of  absence,  through  infirmity,  from  public 
ordinances. 

On  the  day  after  this  (Friday,  6th  July,)  Agnes 
suffered  much  from  acute  pain.  This  continued  from 
morning  to  evening.  When  she  obtained  a  little 
ease,  she  said  to  William,  who  was  beside  her : 

'  How  little  have  I  thought  of  good  things  to-day ! 

0  that  God  would  quicken  my  soul  to  have  more 
delight  in  reflecting  upon  the  love  of  Christ !     I  fear 

1  am  indulging  in  too  great  security ;  for  if  I  were 
really  a  child  of  God,  I  think  I  could  not  so  often 
forget  him,  nor  so  much  repine  under  my  sufferings.' 

It  was  remarked  to  her,  that  she  had  great  reason 
for  thankfulness  that  she   continued  quite   sensible, 


208  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

when  often  on  a  bed  of  sickness  the  poor  sufterer 
could  neither  understand  nor  apply  the  offers  of 
mercy.     She  answered : 

'  Yes ;  and  my  mercies  are  so  numerous  that  my 
sin  shall  be  the  more  aggravated,  if  I  do  not  glorify 
God  for  them.' 

On  Saturday,  the  7th  July,  she  was  rather  easier; 
consequently  a  great  part  of  the  day  was  taken  up 
with  religious  exercises  and  conversations.  Towards 
evening,  her  mind  became  unusually  elevated;  her 
conceptions  of  the  glories  of  her  Redeemer  were  grand, 
and  her  manner  of  expressing  herself  exceedingly  im- 
pressive. Once  or  twice,  her  triumphant  bursts  took 
them  by  surprise,  and  thrilled  them  with  holy  delight. 
These  passages,  however,  could  not  be  taken  down. 
The  following  was  the  conclusion  of  one  of  them : — 
'  When  I  go  to  heaven — as  I  now  trust  I  shall — be 
sure  you  all  follow  me ;  and  even  though  I  should  not 
go,  I  hope  you  will ;  but  surely  I  too  shall  be  there.  It 
is  sinful  in  me  any  more  to  doubt  of  my  salvation.  O 
my  dear  brothers !  I  entreat  you,  be  decidedly  religious. 
Choose  ye  this  day  whom  ye  shall  serve.  Boast  not  of 
to-morrow,  for  you  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth ;  and  place  no  confidence  in  the  work  of  a  death- 
bed repentance.  AVliat  if  you  be  cut  off  without  a 
moment  for  preparation !  True,  he  hath  not  so  dealt 
with  me.  Here  I  have  been  born  again.  To  John, 
under  God,  I  am  indebted  for  my  conversion.  O  how 
my  heart  swells  with  gratitude  to  my  Saviour  for  all 


THE  GIIOWTH  OF  GRACE,  209 

his  mercies  towards  me,  a  sinner!  What  a  blessed 
Redeemer  is  mine !  How  great  is  his  beauty,  and 
how  great  is  his  goodness  !  In  him,  and  in  him  alone, 
I  have  pat  my  trust ;  and  he  is  worthy  of  far  more 
confidence  than  I  can  give ;  for  he  loved  me,  and  gave 
himself  for  me.  What  a  religion — what  a  faith  is  the 
christian's  !      O    Calvary — Calvary — wonderful    Cal- 


ary 


t'* 


Here  her  face  was  lighted  up  with  a  look  of  tri- 
umph ;  and  as  she  observed  them  in  tears  around  her 
bed,  she  continued,  '  Do  not  weep  for  me.  You  have 
no  reason  whatever  to  weep  for  me.  When  I  go  to 
heaven,  shall  I  not  be  infinitely  happier?  Think  of 
the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ,  of  which  I  shall  then 
be  in  full  and  rapturous  possession !  Do  not  weep 
for  me.' 

She  had  decided  on  committing  to  memory  the 
hymn  on  faith,  and  she  asked  her  brother  to  read  it 
slowly  over  to  her,  verse  by  verse,  for  this  purpose. 
When  this  was  done,  she  requested  that  he  would 
select  and  wi'ite  out  for  her  a  few  of  the  more  appro- 
priate texts  of  scripture,  that  he  might  be  ready,  at 
any  time  of  need,  to  repeat  them  at  once  in  her  hear- 
ing ;  '  for,'  she  said,  '  the  Word  of  God  is  quick  and 
powei*ful.' 

The  next  day  (Sabbath  the  8th)  she  was  again  pri- 
vileged with  considerable  relief  from  acute  suffering. 

*  See  *  The  Hidiug  Place,'  p.  125. 


210  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Slie  enjoyed  some  pleasing  conversation  with  lier 
eldest  brother,  who  had  come  to  hear  and  see  her. 
Observing  that  he  w^as  grieving,  she  desired  him  to 
read  to  her  the  hymn  beginning — 

'  Take  comfort,  cliristians,  when  your  friends 
In  Jesus  fall  asleep  ; 
Their  better  being  never  ends, 
Why  then  dejected  weep  ?' 

And  on  his  doing  so,  she  said,  'Now,  let  us  sing  to- 
gether the  twenty-third  Psalm.'  When  praise  was 
finished,  she  asked  for  writing  materials,  and  wrote 
down  the  whole  of  that  psalm,  as  she  complained  that 
some  lines  of  it  had  escaped  her  memory.  After  doing 
this,  she  delighted  them  all  by  immediately  engag- 
ing in  prayer.  To  their  surprise,  they  found  she 
was  employing  for  this  piu'pose  the  words  of  the 
102nd  Psalm,  which  she  repeated  fi'om  beginning  to 
end  with  accuracy  and  with  solemnising  emphasis. 
Wlien  she  had  finished,  she  became  silent  and  indis- 
posed for  conversation.  In  the  evening  she  revived, 
and  again  dwelt  much  upon  her  approaching  depar- 
ture from  this  world,  and  upon  the  felicities  of  the 
new  Jerusalem.  A  return  of  pain  checked  her  in  this 
course,  and,  with  considerable  force  of  expression,  she 
exclaimed — 

'  O,  what  a  happy  change  fi'om  this  to  heaven ! 
This  may  be  my  last  Sabbath  on  earth ;  I  may 
spend  the  next  with  my  Redeemer,  with  my  father 
and  mother,  and  with  the   spirits  of  the  just.      O 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  211 

blessed  Jesus !  I  believe— help  mine  unbelief!  \Iy 
hopes  all  rest  on  thy  infinite  worthiness ;  not  in  mine 
innocence  I  trust,  but  in  Christ,  in  hiin  alone.  Christ 
suffered  for  me,  the  just  for  the  unjust;  he  has  a 
fellow  feeling  with  me;  he  will — I  know  he  will  work 
out  ray  salvation.'* 

At  her  request,  the  fifty-first  Psalm  was  again  read, 
and  part  of  the  hymn  was  sung,  beginning — 

'  The  saints  of  God,  from  death  set  free, 
"With  joy  shall  mouut  on  high,'  etc. 

For  the  first  time,  this  evening  she  manifested  soine 
anxiety  to  know  hoAv  long  she  was  likely  to  live,  and 
was  rather  displeased  when  the  question  was  evaded. 
She  tried  various  ways  of  ascertaining  it,  not  only  by 
fi'equent  inquiries  at  those  in  the  house,  but  at  others 
who  were  admitted  to  see  her. 

'  Do  tell  me,'  she  said,  as  they  were  bidding  her 
good  night,  '  do  you  fear  anything  soon  ?  What  do 
the  doctors  think  ?  Do  they  fix  a  day,  or  two  days, 
or  a  week,  or  what  ? — do  tell  me.' 

'  We  cannot  tell ;  you  are  in  the  hands  of  a  kind 
God.' 

'  I  know  it,  and  am  resigned ;  but  it  would  gratify 
me  if  you  w^oukl  tell  me.' 

'  It  may  be  soon,  and,  fi-om  your  weak  conchtion,  it 
may  be  sooner  than  is  anticipated.' 

'  Well,  be  it  so,'  she  replied,  smiling.     'I  thank  my 

*   See  'The  Hiding  Place,'  p.  127. 


212  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

God  that  he  has  not  overwhehned  me  with  fears.  My 
death-bed  looked  terrible  at  a  distance;  but  on  Christ 
my  hope  is  fixed ;  hence  my  composui'e  now.'  Hav- 
ing repeated  one  of  her  favom'ite  hymns,  her  nurse 
prepared  her  for  the  night.  It  pleased  God  to  give 
her  some  sleep,  so  that,  on  the  following  day  (Monday, 
9th,)  she  was  somewhat  easy,  and  improved  it  accord- 
ingly. In  the  evening  she  was  promised  some  parti- 
cular quality  of  bread  '  to-morrow.' 

'  Do  not  speak  of  to-morrow,'  was  her  reply.  '  I 
do  not  look  so  far  forward — my  time  is  very  un- 
certain. You  do  not  know  how  soon  we  may  have  to 
part.  I  used  often  to  think,  which  of  our  family 
would  die  first ;  and  I  fancied,  when  there  were  six 
brothers  and  but  one  sister,  that  surely  the  sister 
would  not  be  the  first.  I  do  not  doubt,  however,  but 
that  God  has  wise  and  merciful  purposes  to  serve  by 
it ;  and  I  thank  him  for  bringing  me  so  soon  and  in 
safety  to  my  journey's  end.  Perhaps,  ere  another 
Monday,  this  may  be  a  dreary  room  to  you  all — here 
I  may  be  stretched  out  a  cold  corpse ;  but  you  shall 
only  see  my  body — a  piece  of  Hfeless  clay.  My  soul 
will  have  taken  its  happy  flight — to — to— perhaps — I 
hoj^e — to  heaven  !  What  a  change !  You  weeping 
here,  and  taldng  farewell  looks  of  me — I  singing 
yonder,  and  gazing  upon  the  glorified  Jesus  !' 

'  It  shall  indeed  be  sad  to  us,  though  joyfiil  to  you, 
Agnes.' 

'Yes;  but  you  must  be  resigned.     I  can  now  think 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE,  213 

of  my  death — of  my  funeral — of  my  grave,  without,  an 
unpleasant  feeling.  What  a  number  of  brothers  will 
carry  me  to  my  grave  !  I  think  I  am  highly  honoured 
in  being  the  first  among  you  to  go  to  heaven.  But 
time  is  short,  and  I  must  not  waste  it;  bring  the  Bible 
and  read  to  me  from  its  precious  pages :  I  need  it  all 
to  study  for  eternity.' 

As  they  were  reading,  she  cried  out  from  pain, 
'  Help  me,  William,  O  help  me :  I  cannot  do  without 
your  help!'  She  quickly  checked  herself — 'But  what 
am  I  saying?  it  is  God  that  afflicts  me,  and  God  alone 
can  help  me.' 

July  10,  Tuesday. — Having  concluded  the  ser- 
vices peculiar  to  a  sacramental  occasion  in  Scotland,  I 
left  Kincardine  this  morning  for  Edinburgh,  and  in  a 
tew  hom's  I  was  again  at  my  place  beside  this  beloved 
sufferer.  I  had  heard  of  her  welfare  during  the  inter- 
val,  and  rejoiced  to  know  of  her  increasing  comfort  in 
the  prospect  of  death;  but  I  was  particularly  impressed 
with  the  accounts  of  her  occasional  bursts  of  holy  rap- 
ture, and  hoped  to  be  favoured  to  hear  one  of  them. 
I  have  hinted  that  in  this  I  was  disappointed.  I  found 
lier  at  this  time  in  an  exceedingly  low  condition,  weaker 
than  I  had  ever  seen  her.  She  could  scarcely  whisper, 
but  she  gave  me  her  wonted  welcome — a  smile  that 
told  enough.  I  bent  towards  her  to  catch  her  feeble 
speech : — 

'  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again.  I  hope  you  got 
comfortably  through  "s^nth  the  holy  communion.' 


214  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  Yes/  I  said;  '  the  Lord  of  the  ordinance  has  been 
very  kind  to  me.' 

'  And  to  me  too,'  she  replied. 

'  Though  anxious  about  you,  he  was  a  ver)^  present 
help.' 

'  I  was  sure  he  would  be  that.  Will  you  repeat  to 
me  what  you  can  remember  of  the  comforting  things 
you  said  or  heard  at  the  Lord's  table  V 

I  then  gave  her  an  outline  of  the  discourse  I 
preached  before  the  communion,  from  these  words : 
'  The  precious  blood  of  Christ.'  Great  was  her  comfort, 
from  the  views  Avhich  I  now  gave  her  of  that  wonder- 
ful 'fountain.'  As  I  spoke  of  the  eternal  Father,  who 
opened  it  up — of  the  eternal  Son,  out  of  whose  heart 
it  flowed — of  the  eternal  Spirit,  Mdio  applies  its  heal- 
ing streams  to  sin-stricken  souls — and  of  poor  guilty 
sinners,  as  the  objects  for  whose  purity  it  was  provided, 
her  looks  told  how  satisfied  was  her  thirsty  spirit.  She 
took  special  delight  in  talking  over  the  precious  j^i^o- 
perties  of  this  blood  of  atonement.  She  gloried  in  its 
rarity — the  most  precious  of  metals  not  being  so  rare 
— and  its  being  found  nowhere  but  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  She  gloried  in  its  intrinsic  value,  in  this  respect 
infinitely  surpassing  mere  gold  or  silver,  or  the  precious 
stones  of  the  lapidaiy,  which  derive  their  importance 
simply  from  their  scarcity,  and  lose  it  when  they  be- 
come plentiful.  But  the  blood  of  Christ  is  not  depen- 
dent for  its  excellence  upon  its  relative  positions : 
being  divine  and  atoning  blood,  it  is,  and  anust  be,  of 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  215 

essential  and  infinite  worth.  She  gloried  in  the  Mgli 
estimation  in  which  it  has  been  held  by  all  competent 
judges,  from  the  patriarchs,  prophets,  and  righteous 
men  of  old,  down  to  the  apostles,  martyi's,  and  con- 
fessors of  later  periods ;  yea,  from  the  spirits  before 
the  throne  on  high,  and  the  angels,  wdio  join  them 
in  ascribing  worthiness  to  the  Lamb  who  was  slain, 
lip  to  the  great  God  himself,  who,  in  consequence  of 
his  shedding  it,  is  now  imploring  the  world  to  be 
reconciled  to  him  through  '■  the  blood  of  the  testament 
which  God  hath  enjoined  unto  us.'  And  she  gloried 
in  the  gracious  purjyoses  which  it  accomplishes  as  pro- 
pitiafory  blood,  securing  the  justification  of  the  sinner; 
as  peace^maldng  blood,  spealdng  '  better  things  than  the 
blood  of  Abel ; '  slaying  the  enmity  between  God 
and  man,  and  bi'inging  nigh  those  who  had  been 
^  afar  off:  for  it  pleased  the  Father  that  in  him 
should  all  ftilness  dwell ;  and  having  made  peace 
through  the  blood  of  his  cross,  by  him  to  reconcile  all 
things  unto  himself;'  ^spurifying\Aoo(\,  ^\\i\ch.  'purges 
the  conscience  from  dead  works,'  maldno;  even  the 
most  defiled  spirit  '  whiter  than  snow,'  and  an  appro- 
priate temple  even  for  the  Holy  Ghost  himself;  and 
as  sealing  blood,  ratif^dng  not  only  the  covenant  of  the 
olden  times,  but  specially  that  of  the  new  economy, 
being,  according  to  Paul,  '  the  blood  of  the  testament,' 
and  according  to  Jesus  himself,  in  the  institution 
of  the  Lord's  Supper,  the  cup  which  is  'the  new 
testament  in  his  blood  shed  for  the  remission  of  sins 


216  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

unto  many.'  From  gospel  streams  like  these  she 
imbibed  not  only  great  consolation,  but  great  faith. 
From  gospel  lamps  like  these  the  whole  valley  was 
now  almost  in  a  perpetual  blaze  of  light,  and,  with 
the  exception  of  a  passing  cloud  now  and  then,  so  it 
continued  to  be  till  she  gave  up  the  ghost.  * 

In  the  afternoon  Ave  had  a  pleasing  subject  of  con- 
A'ersation.  Keverting  to  what  had  been  my  privilege 
on  the  Sabbath,  she  remarked  : 

'  I  am  often  grieved  when  I  think  of  the  length  of 
thne  I  delayed  being  a  member  of  the  church,  of  my 
want  of  proper  self-examination  beforehand,  and  of 
my  spiritual  deadness  when  I  first  sat  down  at  oiu- 
Lord's  table.  O  how  weak,  how  very  weak  was 
my  love  to  Christ  then !  But  I  just  comfort  myself 
with  this  thought,  that  he  has  forgotten  the  past, 
and  that  though  I  cannot  love  him  aright  in  this 
frail  tabernacle,  I  will  be  enabled  to  love  him  even 
according  to  his  ov.n  pleasure  after  I  am  dead.' 

'  It  is  indeed  glorious  to  think  of  our  being  made 
perfect  then  — perfect  in  happiness — perfect  in  know- 
ledge— perfect  in  holiness !  What  gTand  company, 
too,  we  shall  have !  You  shall  soon  be  with  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob.' 

'  Yes,  John,'  she  said,  interrupting  me,  '  and  with 
Christ  !  with  Christ  ! ' 

'  Should  not  the  prospect  of  such  felicity  I'econcile 
us  to  all  the  ills  of  life  ?  ' 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  232-237. 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  217 

'  It  should,'  she  replied.  '  I  feel  sm-e  that  heaven 
will  be  all  the  glorious  and  happy  place  God's  word 
promises.  It  is  true  we  laiow  little  about  it;  "for 
eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered 
into  the  heart  of  man  the  things  which  God  hath 
prepared  for  them  that  love  him  ;  but  wdiat  we  know 
not  now  we  shall  know  hereafter." ' 

As  she  partook  of  some  food,  I  said  that  '  in  heaven 
we  shall,  in  all  probability,  be  freed  from  the  craving 
of  these  appetites.' 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  '  there  we  shall  "  hunger  no  more, 
neither  thirst  any  more."  ' 

'  One  finds  it  difficult,'  I  remarked,  '  to  realise  for 
one's  self  the  actual  possession  of  such  blessedness. 
It  is  reported,  that,  when  an  old  disciple  of  the  cross 
was  dying,  he  thus  expressed  himself: — "When  I  go 
to  heaven — if  I  ever  reach  it — there  are  three  things 
which  will  make  me  wonder:  first,  to  find  many  there 
whom  I  did  not  expect  to  see  ;  second,  to  find  some 
absent  whom  I  did  expect  to  see  ;  but  the  third  and 
last  wonder  of  all  shall  be,  to  find  myself  there — me 
there — 7ne  there !  " ' 

'  Yes,'  she  said ;  '  but  worthy  is  the  Lamb  who 
was  slain  to  receive  all  the  honour  and  the  praise ; 
and  when  we  get  there,  it  will  be  because  he  is  there 
as  our  forerunner  and  representative.' 

Having  put  the  quill  into  her  mouth,  from  which 
she  sucked  up  some  wine  and  water,  I  called  her 
attention  to   that  remarkable  passage  in  the  life  of 


218  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Jesus,  when  he  cried  out,  'I  thirst!'  and  was  only 
mocked  with  the  oiFer  of  gall  and  vinegar.  Her  eye 
immediately  gathered  up  its  former  fire  and  expres- 
sion ;  she  allowed  the  spoon  to  drop  from  her  hand, 
and,  closing  it  firmly,  she  raised  it  up  as  in  defiance, 
and  with  ereat  feehng  exclaimed — 

'  Wonderful !  O  how  wonderful !  And  this  was 
the  Son  of  God — the  Lord  of  angels — the  King  of 
kings — the  Creator,  who  was  so  insulted,  and  who 
could  have  crushed  these  his  enemies  with  a  look ! ' 

I  now"  told  her  the  following  anecdote  in  connection 
with  this  subject : — Not  many  years  ago,  on  a  parti- 
cular occasion,  the  Lord's  Supper  was  dispensed  in 
the  church  of  Bridge-of-Teith,  when  the  venerable 
father  of  the  present  Dr  Fletcher  of  London  was  its 
pastor.  To  accommodate  the  multitudes  who  flocked 
thither  at  such  times,  a  field-tent  had  been  erected  in 
the  park  behind  the  chm'ch,  which  was  successively 
occupied  during  the  Sabbath  by  the  different  minis- 
ters who  were  present  at  the  commmiion.  It  was  a 
beautiful  summer  afternoon.  The  sun  was  unclouded, 
and  the  heat  was  intense.  The  river  Teith  rolled  past 
in  all  its  Highland  grandem',  dashing  against  the  old 
arches  of  the  romantic  bridge  which  gives  its  name 
to  the  locality,  and  which  formed,  along  with  the 
stately  trees  on  its  banks,  shelter  from  the  sun's  rays 
to  many  of  the  congregation  assembled  there  to  hear 
the  gospel.  There  was  an  unusual  stir  at  one  period 
of  the  day,  and  the  people  were  seen  rushing  to  the 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE,  219 

tent.  A  favoui'ite  preacher  had  ascended.  He  read 
out  liis  text — 'After  this,  Jesus  knowing  that  all 
things  were  now  accomplished,  that  the  scripture 
might  be  ftilfilled,  saith,  /  thirst.^  From  this,  among 
many  other  pathetic  allusions  to  the  sufferings  of  the 
Son  of  Mary,  the  preacher  took  occasion  to  speak  of 
the  exquisite  pain  occasioned  by  thii'st,  and  then  gave 
a  touching  description  of  om*  blessed  Savioiu''s  suffer- 
ings from  it  on  the  cross.  Not  a  sound  was  heard,  save 
the  gurgling  of  the  Teith,  and  occasionally  the  notes 
of  the  birds  on  surrounding  branches.  The  audience 
was  profoundly  still,  and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the 
tent,  when,  in  the  midst  of  this  melting  passage,  the 
commanding  figure  of  the  minister  was  seen  to  turn 
round,  and  with  these  words  he  addressed  the  flowing 
stream :  '  Wliere,  where  were  then  thy  waters,  O 
Teith,  when  the  Lord  of  Nature,  who  bade  thee  flow, 
could  not  obtain  so  much  as  one  drop  to  cool  his 
parched  tongue?  Wonder,  O  ye  heavens,  and  be 
amazed,  O  earth — thy  Creator  exclaims,  "I  thirst!"' 
Agnes  was  much  affected  by  this  simple  story,  and 
became  more  so  when  she  Avas  told  that  the  preacher 
on  the  occasion  was  her  own  father.  Though  gene- 
rally fastidious  enough  in  her  estimate  of  the  pulpit 
style  of  oratory,  she  considered  the  appeal  in  this 
apostrophe  to  be  exceedingly  fine,  and  in  the  circum- 
stances both  natural  and  proper.  She  now,  for  the 
first  time  since  her  illness,  alluded  to  the  happiness 
she  had  expected  from  residing  with  me  in  the  manse 


220  THE  ^^IGHT  LAMP. 

at  Kincardine.  She  said—-'  We  mioht  have  been 
very  happy.  I  used  often  to  fancy  us  two  sitting 
together  diu'ing  the  winter  nights  at  the  parlour  fire, 
or  walldng  by  the  shores  of  the  Forth,  or  among  the 
beautiful  terraces  of  Tulliallan  Castle,  and  tlie  noble 
trees  of  its  forest ;  and  sometimes  I  figured  our  going 
down  to  the  pier  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  to  greet 
William,  or  some  of  the  others,  on  their  an'ival  b}' 
the  steamer  from  Edinbui'gh.  Ah !  little  did  I  think 
that  such  happiness  was  never  to  be  mine.  My 
prospects,  indeed,  in  the  world  were  never  bright,  but 
in  these  anticipations  I  was  indeed  happy.  God,  I 
believe,  is  doing  all  this  for  the  best.  Pie  is  taldng 
me  away  from  such  sin  and  misery ;  and  now  I  have 
glorious  prospects  of  living  in  "  the  house  not  made 
with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens."  I  do  not  wish  to 
go  back  to  the  world  to  encounter  Satan,  who  is  an 
a^^'ful  enemy,  a  roaring  lion.  At  the  same  time,  I  am 
resigned— « Thy  will,  O  God,  be  done!"' 

She  here  told  me  of  the  kind  visits  she  occasionally 
received  fi'om  her  own  and  her  father's  fi'iends,  the 
Eev.  Dr  James  Peddie,  and  the  Rev.  Dr  John  Brown, 
who  had  manifested  the  most  affectionate  concern  for 
her  ever  since  she  had  been  laid  down  in  the  chamber 
of  affliction,  and  continued  to  do  so  while  she  lived. 
Each  visit  drew  from  her,  on  their  departm'e,  the 
most  sincere  and  meek  expressions  of  thankfulness, 
not  only  to  them,  but  to  the  Lord,  who  sent  them  to 
be  her  comforters.     She  had  also  that  forenoon  re- 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  221 

ceived  a  second  Adsit  from  Dr  Halley.     In  giving  an 
account  of  tlii.s  interview  with  her,  he  says — 

*  Mr  Arnot  came  down  on  Sabbath  evening,  and  tokl 
me  that  your  sister  was  anxious  to  see  me  again.  My 
own  anxiety  was  equally  great ;  for  I  can  assure  j^ou 
I  had  reaped  much  experience,  and  derived  much 
sincere  pleasure,  from  my  former  visit.  Of  my  second 
visit  I  may  also  say  that  it  was  profitable  to  us  both. 
When  I  w^as  leaving  her  she  called  me  back,  took  my 
hand  in  hers,  ^^'hile  her  eye  filled  with  tears,  and 
said — "I  think,  Mr  Halley,  we  two  may  say,  as  did 
the  disciples  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  It  has 
been  good  for  us  to  be  here."  She  had  slept  better 
than  usual  during  the  preceding  night,  and  was  there- 
fore able  to  converse  with  me  more  fluently.  Her 
frame  of  mind  w^as  evidently  greatly  better,  and  she 
talked  of  the  support  she  received  from  the  conso- 
lations of  the  gospel,  and  of  her  assurance  of  an  in- 
terest in  Christ,  in  a  manner  which  gi'eatly  delighted 
me.  We  had  no  time  and  no  occasion  for  questions 
and  answers  at  this  interview ;  for  the  conversation 
flowed  on  in  that  delightful  manner,  unchecked  and 
unembarrassed,  that  each  of  us  supplied  what  we 
thought  defective  m  the  illustrations  of  the  other. 
The  chief  part  of  it  was  occupied  with  heaven.  We 
talked  (and  the  idea  seemed  powerfully  to  strike  her) 
of  the  surprise  that  a  disembodied  spmt  must  feel 
when  released  from  this  thin   partition  of  clay,  and 


222  TliE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

when  the  secrets  of  the  invisible  world  are  then  dis- 
closed. We  spoke  of  the  knowledge  to  Avhich  glorified 
beings  should  attain — of  the  stainless  purity  that  shall 
belong  to  their  souls  when  every  impulse  of  the  opera- 
tions of  sense  shall  be  subdued,  and  when  every  inter- 
nal conflict  shall  be  terminated  for  ever.  We  talked 
of  the  happy  reunion  of  the  followers  of  Christ  in 
another  world,  and  here  I  alluded  to  her  grandfather, 
her  mother,  and  father.  This  tasked  her  sensibility 
too  much  ;  her  eyes  swam  with  tears.  I  apologised  for 
alluding  to  it,  when  she  immediately  said — "  O  no, 
don't  think  it  is  that  which  pains  me ;  it  is  the  fact 
that  my  father  offered  up  so  many  prayers  for  us  all, 
that  we  might  at  last  be  brought  to  heaven ;  and  I 
hope  he  shall  soon  find  that  his  prayers  have  been 
answered  in  my  experience." 

'■  She  spake  of  the  great  benefit  she  had  denved 
from  you,  and  attributed  her  conversion  to  your  exer- 
tions, under  the  blessing  of  Heaven.  She  said  it  must 
no  doubt  be  very  pleasing  for  you  to  know  this,  and 
she  desired  me  to  tell  you.  The  subject  with  which 
our  conversation  terminated  on  my  former  visit  was 
then  resumed.  Having  pointed  out  to  her  that  Christ 
by  his  death  had  delivered  his  people  from  the  con- 
demning power  of  the  law,  and  purchased  for  them 
mansions  m  heaven,  she  remarked — "I  thuik  I  can 
say.  Thanks  be  to  God,  that  gave  us  the  victory 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Chiist."  She  told  me  of  the 
consolation  she  had  recently  enjoyed  in  prayer,  and 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.  223 

said — "Thougli  my  outAvard  man  failetli,  my  inward 
man  is  renewed  day  by  day."  She  also  remarked — 
"  How  base  and  uno;rateful  is  the  conduct  of  those  who 
try  to  set  aside  the  truths  of  rehgion  !  What  shoukl  1 
have  been  now,  liad  I  wanted  these  to  cheer  and 
comfort  me  ?" 

'But,  my  dear  Sir,  it  woukl  be  vain,  because 
impossible,  to  give  you  an  account  of  all  our  conver- 
sation at  this  visit.  One  topic  followed  another  so 
spontaneously,  and  the  pleasiu*e  wdiich  each  of  us  felt 
AA'as  so  great,  that  after  I  had  gone,  I  found  the  utmost 
difficulty  in  tasking  my  memory  to  many  of  the  }iarti- 
cular  subjects  in  which  we  were  engaged.  I  prayed 
with  her,  and  promised  to  call  on  the  follo\ving 
week.' 

Dr  Halley  alludes  in  his  interesting  narrative  to  a 
circumstance  in  the  history  of  this  death-bed  which  to 
tlie  writer  is  unusually  interesting — the  conversion  of 
Agnes.  On  this  same  evenino;  she  herself  introduced 
it.  I  had  given  to  her  to  read  an  old  edition  of  tlie 
works  of  Wilhson  of  Dundee,  author  of  '  The  Afflicted 
Man's  Companion.'  Next  to  her  Bible,  she  prized  this 
quaint  but  precious  \mter.  Much  rich  consolation 
did  she  receive  from  his  heavenly  mind.  At  this 
time  I  took  up  the  volimie,  and  at  her  request  read  a 
portion  of  it.  On  laying  it  down,  it  occurred  to  me 
to  ask  her  if  my  own  effijrts  to  comfort  and  guide  her 
mind  had  been  useful  to  her  during  her  illness.     She 


224  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

looked  at  me  for  a  moment  or  two,  and,  with  great 
earnestness  in  her  manner,  said — 

'  Yes ;  you  have  been  the  foundation,  the  begin- 
ning— you  have  been  the  means,  under  God,  of 
bringing  me  to  Cluist — to  heaven.  O  John,  what  a 
blessed  thing  it  must  be  for  you  to  have  saved  one 
soul  fi'om  death ! '  The  subject  was  not  prolonged, 
and  I  have  no  other  remark  to  make  upon  it  than 
this — //  it  he  so,  '  not  unto  us,  O  Lord,  not  unto  us, 
but  unto  thy  name  be  all  the  glory.' 

Agnes  spoke  a  good  deal  about  the  kind  Mends  who 
occasionally  \dsited  her.  She  was  truly  a  grateful 
creature.  To  Mrs  Arnot  especially,  a  lady  who  acted 
towards  her  a  mother's  part  during  the  time  of  her 
illness,  she  cherished  all  the  affection  of  a  daughter ; 
and  many  a  blessing  upon  her  and  her  family  did  she 
earnestly  implore.  She  was  also  much  cheered  and 
strengthened  by  the  visits  of  a  young  female  friend, 
now  the  estimable  lady  of  the  Rev.  Mr  Cunningham 
of  the  Free  Chm'ch  of  Blair-Lodge,  who  with  the 
most  delicate  fidelity  helped  to  guide  her  on  the  way 
to  heaven.  There  is  therefore  a  propriety  in  now 
inserting  Mi's  Cmmingham's  own  impressions  of 
Agnes'  dying  experience  at  this  stage  of  her  trying 
ordeal.     She  thus  writes  : — 

'  Dming  the  first  two  visits  I  paid  your  truly  in- 
teresting sister,  after  Miss  Abercrombie  told  me  of  her 
state,  I  endeavom-ed  to  speak  to  her  of  the  need  of  a 


THE  GROWTH  CF  GRACE.  225 

Saviour,  aiid  of  the  loud  voice  tliere  was  in  all  sickness 
and  soiTOw,  calling  upon  vis  to  bow  unto  God,  and  to 
seek  for  a  physician  both  for  soul  and  body.  She 
seemed  to  assent  but  coldly,  and  got  much  more  ani- 
mated when  we  tallied  of  other  things.  For  ten  days 
or  so  after  this  she  became  much  worse,  and  unable  to 
see  me.  When  I  was  admitted  next,  I  saw  that  she 
looked  much  more  feeble ;  but  I  can  never  forget  the 
delight  I  felt,  after  a  little  conversation,  to  see  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  her  mind.  She  asked 
her  nurse  to  go  out,  as  she  wished  to  have  a  little 
private  conversation  with  me.  She  then  told  me  that 
she  had  o])ened  her  mind  to  you  in  a  way  that  she 
had  never  done  before,  and  that  you  had  given  her 
some  sweet  text  to  comfort  her  in  every  difficulty. 
She  was  afi'aid  that  you  were  too  comforting  to  such 
a  sinner  as  she  was.  I  said,  "  We  need  not  fear  to 
trust  in  comforts  that  come  from  the  Word  of  God." 
She  replied,  "  I  know  that ;  but  still  I  have  heard  of 
many  righteous  people  who  had  much  fears  about 
theu'  souls,  so  that  I  wonder  at  my  own  peace." 

'I  wished  to  know  if  she  now  thought  she  was 
dyuig,  and  said,  after  being  so  often  disappointed  in 
seeing  her,  I  feared  she  was  even  worse,  and  that  I 
might  never  have  seen  her  again.  She  said,  "  God 
only  knows  what  shall  be  the  end  of  this ;  but  I  now 
think  I  am  dying.  Once  it  appeared  very  tenible 
to   me   to    be  laid  in  the  lonesome  grave — to   have 

done  with  this  world,  and  be  parted  from  my  dear 
k2 


226  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

brothers  and  fi'ieiicls ;  but  now,  that  thought  never 
troubles  me — it  is  only  tliis,  What  Avill  become  of  my 
souir' 

'  She  said  she  sometimes  felt  afi'aid  that  she  might 
be  deceiving  herself,  and  not  truly  belie\dng  in  Christ. 
I  said  she  might  try  herself  in  one  wa}^ — if  Christ 
were  precious  to  her,  for  "  to  them  that  believe  he  is 
precious ;"  but  many  thought  they  believed  in  him 
who  never  felt  his  value.  She  said,  "  I  fear  I  do  not 
love  him  as  I  ought."  I  asked  her  if  she  would  give 
up  the  hope  she  had  in  Christ  for  the  promise  of  long 
life,  health,  and  prosperity.  Slie  gave  me  one  of  her 
sweet,  animated  smiles,  and  said,  "  O  no !  Small  as 
my  hold  is,  I  would  not  give  it  up  for  the  whole  world. 
I  feel  my  heart  so  deceitful,  I  would  be  afraid  to 
return  to  the  world ;  I  might  be  dra^\"n  away  to  vanity 
and  forgetfuhiess  of  God.  I  think  God  has  shown 
great  mercy  to  me  in  laying  me  on  a  bed  of  sickness, 
and  callmg  my  mind  to  religion  now ;  for  if  I  had 
lived  to  grow  old  in  the  careless  state  in  which  once  I 
was,  my  heart  must  have  grown  so  bad,  that  it  might 
never  have  been  changed."  She  added,  "  When  I 
hear  people  tallv  of  a  new  heart,  and  being  born  again, 
I  fear  there  is  not  such  a  change  in  me  as  they  des- 
cribe." I  advised  her  to  examine  if  she  felt  any  differ- 
ence in  her  feelings  with  regard  to  God's  word  and 
his  people.  She  said,  "  I  feel  a  very  great  diflFerence. 
TiU  very  lately,  I  did  not  care  about  seeing  and  con- 
versing with  ministers ;  now,  I  count  it  my  greatest 


THE  GROWTH  OF  GRACE.    ,  227 

delight,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  have  intercourse  with 
those  who  do  not  speak  to  me  of  heavenly  things." 
She  ahvays  AAdshed  that  we  should  unite  in  prayer 
before  we  parted,  and  generally  she  asked  nie  earnestly 
to  remember  her  at  a  throne  of  grace  at  home,  and 
gave  me  some  texts  of  scripture  to  think  on  after  I  left 
her.  1  only  remember  two  of  them  :  "  The  effectual 
fervent  prayer  of  a  righteous  man  availeth  much ; " 
and,  "  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all 
acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to 
save  sinners,  even  the  chief."  She  had  a  verse  always 
ready  to  give  me  when  she  knew  I  was  coming.  She 
gradually  became  more  frank,  and  spoke  to  me  freely 
of  the  change  she  was  looking  for,  and  I  may  say 
hastening  to.  She  only  feared  that  she  might  wish 
for  death  too  much  in  order  to  be  relieved  from  suffer- 
ing ;  and  her  desii'e  was  to  \Adsli  for  it  only  that  she 
might  be  with  Jesus,  who  had  shown  so  much  love, 
and  suffered  so  much  for  her.  It  gave  her  great 
pleasm-e  to  think  that  her  father  and  mother  had 
been  pious,  and  what  a  happy  thing  it  would  be  for 
a  family  to  meet  in  heaven.  At  times,  her  bodily 
sufferings  were  so  great  that  she  could  scarcely  speak, 
but  she  seemed  in  the  time  of  her  adversity  to  con- 
sider her  mercies ;  for  she  used  often  to  say,  "  O,  what 
would  have  been  my  state  but  for  religion  ;  and  what 
a  mercy  it  is  I  have  the  use  of  my  reason,  and  such 
kind  brothers,  and  an  attentive,  good  nm-se ! "  Her 
patience  was  really  very  beautiful,  and  the  interest 


228  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

she  expressed  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  her  school- 
fellows, showed  how  much  she  valued  the  soul.  She 
used  to  say,  "What  shall  all  this  education 

PROFIT  them  on  a  DYING  BED  WITHOUT  ChRIST  ? 
I  WISH  I  HAD  SPENT  THE  DAYS  OF  MY  HEALTH  IN 
HIS  SERVICE — IT  SEEMS  TO  ME  SO  SHOCKING  TO 
GIVE  ONLY  A    TIME    OF    SICKNESS    TO    SO    KIND    AND 

GOOD  A  Saviour." 

'  One  day  when  she  was  veiy  uneasy,  she  desired 
me  to  pray  that  the  pains  of  her  body  might  not  take 
her  mind  off  heavenly  things,  for  she  felt  distressed 
that  anything  should  come  between  her  and  her  God. 
She  hoped  it  would  please  God  to  give  me  an  easier 
death-bed,  if  it  was  for  my  good ;  but  she  was  sure 
God  did  not  send  her  one  lumecessary  pain,  and  she 
had  now  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  straight  into 
heaven ;  and  she  trusted  that  Christ  would  cany  her 
safely  through  the  last  trial. 

'  The  last  time  but  one  that  I  saw  her,  she  asked 
me  if  I  thought  she  appeared  to  be  near  death.  I 
said  I  thought  she  did.  She  then  asked  me,  did  I 
think  it  might  be  in  two  days.  I  said  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  it  would  be  so,  but  that  I  had  had  little 
experience  in  seeing  sick  people.  She  then  said  in  a 
most  lively  manner,  "  O  IMiss  Jeffrey,  you  have 
indeed  given  me  a  ray  of  comfort  this  evening !" '  * 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  x. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


9E1^e  JFrutts  of  Peace. 

'  Though  afflicted,  tempest-tost, 

Comfortless  awhile  thou  art ; 
Do  not  think  thou  canst  be  lost ; 

Thou  art  graven  en  my  heart ! 
All  thy  wastes  I  will  repair  ; 

Thou  shalt  be  rebuilt  anew  ; 
And  in  thee  it  shall  appear 

What  a  God  of  Love  can  do.' 

We  were  reading  this  afternoon  (Wednesday,  lltli 
July,)  out  of  Willison's  '  Meditations  for  Dying 
Persons,'  which,  after  the  Bible,  was  ever  her 
favourite  book.      She  said : 

'  There  is  a  fine  thought  in  the  passage  you  have 
read.' 

'  Which  passage  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  This  one :  "  O  that  the  night  of  my  death  may 
shine  bright  with  the  sparkling  stars  of  heavenly 
graces  ! "     I  pray  that  it  may  be  so  with  me.' 

'  In  the  darkness  of  your  night  of  death,  I  do  think 
some  such  lights  have  appeared,'  was  my  reply. 

She  quietly  shook  her  head,  and  said : 


230  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  I  should  like  you  to  pray  witli  me  now.'  Having 
done  so,  she  remarked — '  That  is  a  fine  prayer ;  you 
have  remembered  everything.' 

'  The  Saviour  has  promised,'  I  replied,  '  to  send  to 
us  the  Spirit  to  teach  us  all  things,  and  to  bring  all 
things  to  our  remembrance.' 

'Hence,'  she  added,  'I  discover  that  I  have 
many  things  to  pray  for,  of  which  till  now  I  never 
thought.' 

'This  is  our  consolation,  Agnes,  that  our  Father 
knoweth  what  things  we  have  need  of  even  before  we 
ask  him.' 

'  O  what  a  book  is  this  Bible ! '  she  exclaimed : 
'  "  Thy  testimonies  are  wonderful ;  therefore  doth  my 
soul  keep  them.  The  entrance  of  thy  words  giveth 
hght.'" 

After  a  pause :  '  Can  this  be  death ;  and  I  am  so 
calm  and  composed  ?  Can  I  be  humble  enough  ;  am 
I  grieved  enough  for  my  sins — my  ingratitude  ? ' 

'  You  need  not  wonder  if  the  mighty  power  of  God 
divest  death  of  its  terrors.  It  should  rather  be  won- 
derful if,  trusting  in  his  grace,  you  fomid  it  to  be 
otherwise.  Has  he  not  said,  "  As  thy  days,  so  shall 
thy  strength  be  T " 

'  O  tell  me,  am  I  not  sinning  in  being  thus  able 
to  speak  of  death  and  realise  eternity  without  trem- 
bling?' 

'  No,  no,'  I  rephed,  alai*med  at  this  indication  of  the 
returning  clouds ;  '  the  reverse  would  be  sinful.     God 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  231 

is  with  you,  and  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  He  has 
commanded,  "  Fear  not,''  and  you  have  obeyed ;  is 
tliere  sin  in  obeying  God  1  Be  firm,  hold  fast  your 
confidence — resist  the  devil:  you  are  built  upon  the 
Rock  of  Ages,  against  which  the  gates  of  hell  cannot 
prevail.' 

'  O  my  God,'  she  cried,  '  be  with  me  when  death 
actually  comes !' 

The  'Nlghf  was  now  getting  darker,  and  fearing 
lest  we  should  stumble,  I  took  up  the  Bible. 

'  Hear,'  I  said,  '  the  answer  to  your  prayer :  "  When 
thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee ; 
and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee. 
When  thou  walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shalt  not 
be  burned,  neither  shall  the  flames  kindle  upon  thee ; 
for  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the  Holy  One  of  Israel, 
thy  Saviom-." '  * 

She  looked  more  confident,  and  bade  me  proceed. 
I  asked,  '  What  shall  I  say  more  V 

'  Speak  to  me  about  Christ,'  she  answered ;  '  about 
Christ,  and  his  willingness  to  save.' 

After  I  had  done  so  for  some  time,  I  again  asked, 
'  What  shall  I  speak  about  now  V 

She  became  thoughtful,  seemed  to  be  somewhat 
perplexed,  and  then  replied  : 

'  There  are  so  many  topics  that  I  relish,  I  do  not 
know  which  to  select.' 

She  thought  again  and  again,  and  at  length,  as 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  xvi. 


232  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

if  relieved,  she  replied — 'Just  about  Christ  still,  and 
about  the  power  of  his  blood  to  save.  That  blood  can 
save  :  I  hope  it  has  saved  me.' 

I  spoke  about  Christ,  about  the  glories  of  his 
person,  the  sweetness  of  his  love,  and  the  efficacy  of 
his  gi'ace ;  and  as  I  spoke,  the  clouds  disappeared. 

'  I  am  now  prepared  to  hear  you  tell  me  when  it  is 
thought  I  shall  die.  Is  this  to  be  lingering,  or  am  I 
to  die  soon?'  was  her  next  question. 

'I  once  read,'  I  answered,  'of  a  good  ^voman,  who, 
when  asked  whether  she  preferred  to  live  or  die, 
replied,  "I  have  no  choice  in  this  matter,  but  refer 
myself  to  the  will  of  God."  It  was  rejoined  to  her. 
If  God  refer  it  to  yourself,  which  would  you  prefer  ? 
"  If  God  were  to  refer  it  to  me,"  said  she,  "  I  would 
just  refer  it  back  again  to  him." ' 

'  Well,  John,  did  I  not  say,  ''  Tlie  will  of  the  Lord 
be  doner" 

She  then  requested  me  to  draw  a  little  nearer  to 
her,  as  she  had  something  to  say  which  she  wished 
me  alone  to  hear.     She  whispered : 

'I  have  been  thinking  of  my  burial,  and  of  the 
place  where  you  may  lay  me;  and  have  formed  a 
wish  upon  the  subject.' 

'  If  practicable,  your  wish  shall  be  attended  to.' 

'  Then  take  my  body  over  to  Dunfermline,  and  let 
me  be  buried  in  the  Abbey  churchyard,  beside  my 
father  and  mother.' 

I  made  the  promise,  and  she  seemed  much  pleased. 


TrfE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  233 

and  then  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  have  family 
prayers.  '  That  you  may  pray  longer,'  she  said,  '•sing 
fewer  verses.^  I  said,  '  God  is  worthy  of  much 
praise.'  She  made  no  reply.  We  sung  two  verses  of 
a  hymn.  When  1  was  about  to  shut  the  book,  she 
signified  to  me  that  I  was  to  proceed.  We  sung 
another,  and  I  again  was  closing  the  book,  when 
agam  she  signified  to  me  to  go  on,  and  a  fourth  was 
sung.  Thus  my  remark  had  impressed  her.  After 
prayer,  she  again  began  to  mourn  over  her  sins,  and 
to  express  her  fears  about  the  genuineness  of  her 
repentance.  An  exposition  of  Isaiah  i.  18  restored 
her  peace. 

'  'Tis  a  sweet  verse  indeed,'  she  said,  '  and  I  will 
tiy  and  hold  by  it.  When  I  am  gone,  some  in 
the  world  will  say,  "  Poor  girl !  what  a  pity  it  is  that 
she  should  have  been  so  soon  cut  off — so  young  and 
so  happy !"  Poor  girl,  indeed !  I  joy  and  rejoice 
in  the  prospect;  to  me  it  is  now  matter  of  daily 
praise.' 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  during  this  day  she  M'as 
much  exercised  in  godly  jealousy,  and  not  a  little 
inclined  to  despond ;  but,  by  the  grace  of  God,  she 
revived. 

July  12,  Thursday. — Agnes  had  changed  the 
position  this  evening  in  which  for  some  days  she  had 
lain.  I  found  her  consequently  in  great  distress.  The 
tears  were  streammg  down  her  cheeks  fi-om  pain,  and 
deep  and  long  were  her  meanings. 


234  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  This  is  awful  suffering/  slie  said,  as  she  observed 
me  at  her  bedside. 

' "  This  is  the  will  of  God  in  Christ  concerning  you, 
even  your  sanctification," '  I  replied. 

'  It  is  even  so,'  said  she,  trying  to  smile. 

An  opiate  partially  relieved  her,  and,  as  usual,  we 
improved  the  opportunity  by  reading  portions  of  the 
scripture,  and  engaging  in  prayer.  Immediately 
after,  I  heard  her  feelingly  repeating  to  herself  these 
beautiful  lines  : — 

'  Father,  whate'er  of  earthly  bliss  _, 

Thy  sovereign  will  denies, 
Accepted  at  a  throne  of  grace 
Let  this  petition  rise  :  — 

'  Give  me  a  calm  and  thankful  heart, 
From  every  murmur  free  ; 
The  blessings  of  thy  grace  impart, 
And  let  me  Hve  to  thee. 

'  Let  the  sweet  hope  that  thou  art  mine 
My  life  and  death  attend  ; 
Thy  presence  through  my  journey  shino. 
And  crown  my  journey's  end.' 

This  was  one  of  those  hymns  which,  as  a  form  of 
prayer,  she  oft  employed.  Many,  many  times 
were  these  sweet  but  simple  verses  repeated  by  her 
during  the  silent  hours  of  suffering  and  solitary  nights, 
when  she  was  alone  with  the  Father.  Her  condition 
at  this  time  was  so  pitiful,  that  I  could  not  but  admire 
the  di^dne  grace  which  disposed  this  meek  and  patient 
creature  thus  to  address  her    God,  whose  rod  was 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  235 

lying  so  weightily  upon  his  child.  Such  were  her 
sufferings  throughout  this  day,  that  no  fiu'ther  oppor- 
tunity was  afforded  for  conversation.  'Pray  for 
nie/  she  said,  as  I  left  her ;  '  that,  in  the  midst  of 
l)ai*oxysms  of  pain,  I  may  not  forget  resignation  to 
God.  I  sometimes  do  ;  but  wlien  a  moment  of  ease 
comes,  I  ask  his  pardon,  and  give  thanks.' 

July  13,  Friday. — To  our  deep  regret,  she  was 
again  this  afternoon,  after  another  sleepless  night, 
under  the  cloud.  Earnestly  did  I  pray  that  she  might 
be  '  held  up,'  and  not  permitted  to  wander  into  '  slip- 
pery places.' 

'  O  my  dear  brother,'  she  said,  when  she  saw  me, 
'  I  hope  I'll  get  to  heaven  !' 

'  All  do  get  there  who  die  "  in  Christ  Jesus." ' 

'But  what  am  I? — a  forgetful,  negligent,  dead 
creature.' 

'  God,'  I  rephed,  '  does  not  judge  us  harshly  as  we 
do  ourselves.  I  believe  that  there  shall  be  wonderful 
discoveries,  at  the  last  day,  of  some  on  th^  right  hand 
who  doomed  themselves  to  the  left,  and  of  some  on  the 
left  who  expected  the  right.' 

'  But  I  am  so  cold  often,  and  so  useless.' 

'  You  are  doing  your  Father  great  injustice.  He 
does  not  look  for  the  same  amount  of  active  service 
ti'om  the  afflicted  that  he  does  from  the  sound  in 
health  and  mind.  Consider  an  earthly  parent ;  he 
does  not  reqmre  the  same  attentions  from  his  sickly 
as  fi'om  his  romping  child.' 


236  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  It  is  all  very  true ;  but  still  I  feel  that  I  am  very 
ungrateful.' 

'Do  you  not  love  Jesus?'  'I  hope  I  do,'  she 
replied,  'but  not  as  I  ought.  I  will  tell  you  what 
I  do :  I  implore  him  to  draw  me  closer  to  himself, 
for  I  cannot  cling  to  him,  I  am  so  weak.' 

'  What  does  he  say ?  ''I  love  them  that  love  me." 
Do  you  believe  that?' 

'True;  but  what  is  also  said?  "If  any  man  love 
not  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  let  him  be  Anathema 
Maran-atha."  We  are  not  at  liberty  to  disregard  the 
Bible  tlu'eatenings  any  more  than  the  Bible  promises : 
and  terrible  are  its  threatenings.  O,  they  make  me 
tremble!' 

Away  and  away  did  I  now  carry  her  from  promise 
to  promise;  and,  as  their  brilliant  coruscations  fell 
athw^art  her  path,  her  soul  again  magnified  the  Word 
of  God.  But  she  was  exhausted  with  the  exercise, 
and  I  offered  to  leave  her  alone.  She  called  after  me 
in  a  most  imploring  manner — 

'Do  not  leave  me.  The  soul  should  be  the  first 
concern.  Be  with  me  much  to-day.  Pray  that  Jesus 
may  be  with  me  in  death,  and  that,  when  I  at  last 
enter  upon  the  dark  waters  of  Jordan^  he  will  take  me 
up  in  his  arms  and  carry  me  safely  through.  Oh,  I 
never  thought  a  death-bed  should  be  like  this !  But 
neither  did  I  know  that  to  me  it  should  have  had  so 
few  terrors ! ' 

'And  what  has  dissipated  its  teiTors?' 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  237 

'  The  Bible,  and  faith  in  its  doctrines — Christ  and 
his  cross — yes,  Christ  has  done  it — none  and  nothing 
but  Christ.' 

'  Wlien  yon  think  of  yoiu-  past  Hfe  and  all  its  vani- 
ties, of  God,  and  your  forgetfnlness  of  him,  are  you 
still  grieved  ? ' 

<  My  greatest  grief  .is  that  I  grieve  so  little.' 

'  And  what  is  your  greatest  joy  f  ' 

'  That  "  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart  God  will  not 
despise." ' 

July  14,  Saturday It  w^as  occasionally  a  pain- 
ful and  difficult  duty  to  get  her  mind  to  rest  upon  this 
good  hope — that  she  was  certain  to  enjoy  the  divine 
presence  to  the  end,  and  to  be  admitted  into  heaven  at 
the  end  of  her  pilgrimage.  As  far  as  can  be  remem- 
bered, it  might  be  about  this  time  that  she  fell  into  a 
somewhat  desponding  state.  I  remarked  it,  and  she 
admitted  it.  I  asked  her  to  tell  me,  if  she  conld,  why 
she  should  thus  let  go  her  confidence.  She  replied : 
^  I  would  rather  be  helped  to  rise  again  to  the  sense 
of  former  joys.' 

'  What,'  I  inquired,  '  are  your  fears  1 ' 

'  Chiefly,'  she  answered,  '  that,  after  all,  /  may  not 
he  believing.  I  wish  I  conld  persuade  myself  that  I 
actually  have  that  faith  which  is  inseparable  fi'om 
eternal  life.' 

'  I  have  often  endeavoured,'  was  my  reply,  '  to 
satisfy  you  on  that  point,  and  I  mil  do  so  now.  1 
think  it  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  a  text  or  two  of 


238  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

the  Word  of  God  will  completely  serve  the  purpose. 
His  word  "  is  quick  and  powerful," — the  entrance  of 
his  word  "gives  light," — hitherto  it  has  indeed  been 
"  a  lamp  to  your  feet."' 

'  It  has ;  but  I  mourn  sometimes  over  light  that  has 
gone  out,  and  joys  that  have  left  me.' 

'  Do  you  wish  me  at  present  to  raise  an  argument 
with  you  out  of  scripture,  to  prove  that  you  are  a 
believer  ? ' 

'  I  do,  most  anxiously,'  was  her  reply. 

'  Well,  will  you  promise  to  take  the  comfort  out  of 
it?' 

'  Certainly,  if  I  can  ;  and  his  grace  is  sufficient.' 

'  Do  you  think,'  I  asked,  '  that  if  the  heart  feels 
Christ  to  be  truly  valuable — to  be  an  inestimably 
rich  treasure — that  it  can  be  an  unbelieving  heart  1 ' 

'  One  may  have  vague  ideas,'  she  replied,  '  about 
Christ's  work,  and  yet  not  be  savingly  interested  in 
his  righteousness.' 

'  This  is  true,'  was  my  answer  ;  '  but  do  you  think 
that  the  Saviour  can  be  so  highly  prized  as  you  prize 
him,  unless  there  be  some  spintual  vision  of  his  beauty, 
and  spiritual  experience  of  his  worth  ?  ' 

'  That  is  just  the  very  thing  which  I  should  like  to 
have  proved  to  me,'  she  answered. 

'Here,  then,  is  the  proof,  in  the  first  epistle  of 
Peter,  second  chapter  and  seventh  verse :  "  Unto  you, 
therefore,  ivho  believe  he  is  preciousJ^  If  this  text 
mean  anything  at    all,  it   means   that   all   who    are 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  '      230 

conscious  to  themselves  that  Christ  is  precious,  are 
believing ;  and  that  none  beheve  who  do  not  esteem 
him  as  such.     Is  Christ,  then,  precious  to  your  soul  V 

'  He  certainly  is ;  I  am  lost  without  him.' 

'  If,  then,  he  be  thus  precious  to  you,  you  must 
l:ave  faith.  Would  you,  for  any  consideration  what- 
ever, consent  to  forsake  the  Saviour,  and  cast  away 
all  your  confidence  in  him — would  you  renounce  his 
cross  for  worlds  ? ' 

'  No,  no,'  she  said  ;  '  not  for  the  universe.' 

*  I  think,  then,  that  you  are  complimenting  poor 
depraved  human  nature  too  higlily,  by  supposing  for 
a  moment  that  j-ou  can  have  such  an  estimate  of  the 
Redeemer,  entirely  independent  of  that  faith  which  is 
"  the  gift  of  God."  He  is  precious  to  you,  and  you  do 
believe.' 

'  O  to  be  full}^  assured  of  it ! '  was  her  aspiration. 

'  May  I  ask  you,'  I  rejoined,  '  if  you  have  your 
hopes  of  pardon  in  any  degree  founded  upon  your  own 
good  works,  such  as  repentance,  prayer,  profession, 
charity,  or  any  piece  of  self-righteousness  what- 
ever 1 ' 

'  I  am  sure  I  have  not,'  she  answered.  '  All  my 
hope  is  in  the  mercy  of  God — the  free  and  the  rich 
mercy  of  God.' 

'  Hear,  then,  wdiat  God  says  to  you  in  reference  to 
that  state  of  mind  ;  it  is  expressed  in  Psalm  cxlvii.  11  : 
"  The  Lord  taketli  pleasure  in  them  that  fear  him,  in 
those  that  hope  in  his  mercy."     You  have  confessed 


240  THE  NIGHT  LA3IP. 

that  your  hope  is  iioAvliere  else  than  in  his  mercy,  and 
I  believe  you ;  but  God  has  declared  that  he  has 
pleasure  in  all  who  do  so — that  is,  in  you;  and  I 
believe  him.' 

'  This  is  exceedingly  comfortable,'  she  replied. 
'  Wliat  a  thought !  The  Lord,  the  great  Jehovah, 
taheth  jyleasui^e  in  me — in  a  poor  sinner  like  me  !  It 
is,  indeed,  most  encouraging.' 

'  Do  you  feel  your  confidence  somewhat  restored  ? ' 

'  I  think  I  do.  I  thank  you  cordially.  You  are, 
indeed,  a  great  comfort  to  me.  I  shall  not  forget 
these  two  verses  :  "  Unto  you,  therefore,  who  believe 
he  is  precious ;"  and,  "  The  Lord  taketh  pleasiu-e  in 
them  that  fear  him ;  in  those  that  hope  in  his  mercy." ' 

This  forenoon  I  bade  her  farewell,  as  I  had  to 
leave  for  Kinross,  to  assist  the  late  Dr  Hay  at  the 
dispensation  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  Her  manner  in 
parting  with  me  told  that  she  thought  it  Kkely  we 
might  never  meet  again  on  earth.  It  was  very  affect- 
ing, but  kept  under  by  proper  restraint ;  nature  was 
moved,  but  grace  poured  its  oil  on  the  troubled  spirit, 
and  we  parted  in  peace  and  in  hope.  I  had  not  long 
gone  when  she  was  visited  by  Mr  Law  of  Dunfermline, 
Though  in  great  pain  all  the  time  he  was  with  her, 
she  gave  a  proof  of  her  attention,  after  he  left,  which 
pleased  us  greatly.     She  said  to  her  brother  William : 

'  I  have  been  much  comforted  with  Mr  Law's 
kind  visit,  especially  with  his  prayer.  It  was 
beautiful  indeed.     I  will  repeat  part  of  it  to  you  : — 


THE  FRUITS  OF  TEACE.  241 

"  O  Lord,  should  this  be  death,  may  it  be  a  fulfil- 
ment of  Christ's  2^'>'omise,  'Yet  a  little  while  and 
ye  shall  not  see  me;  but  I  will  come  again,  arid 
receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where  I  am,  there  ye 
may  be  also.'  But  if  this  be  death,  may  it  be  an 
answer  to  Christ's  prayer,  '  Father,  I  will  that  they 
also  whom  thou  hast  given  me  be  with  me  where  I 
am ;  that  they  may  behold  my  gloiy,  which  thou  hast 
given  me.'  But  if  this  be  death,  may  it  be  a  response 
to  Christ's  invitation,  '  Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one, 
and  come  away ;  for  lo  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is 
over  and  gone ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth ;  the 
time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of 
the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land.  Arise,  my  love,  my 
fair  one,  and  come  away."" 

Visits  this  day  also  from  her  eldest  brother  and  her 
beloved  aunt,  IVIrs  Dewar,  greatly  refreshed  her.  As 
these  dear  fiiends  sat  beside  her,  she  said — '  The  day 
of  my  death  may  be  one  of  sorrow  to  you,  but  it  will 
be  a  happy  day  to  me.  John  has  been  the  means 
of  saving  nw  soul ;  he  has  been  God's  instrument, 
and  he  will  be  blessed  for  it  yet.  What  a  joy  it 
must  impart  to  him  to  think  that  he  has  saved  one 
soul !' 

July  15,  Sabbath. — This  day  was  passed  in  com- 
parative ease.  Her  mind  rested  on  Christ,  and 
rejoiced  m  the  hope  of  the  approaching  everlasting 
Sabbath  in  '  the  countiy  which  is  an  heavenly.' 

July  16,  Monday. — I  retui-ned  to-day  from  Kin- 


242  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ross.  On  my  questioning  her  as  to  how  she  had  been 
since  I  left  her,  she  said — 'I  have  had  my  usual 
wearisome  days  and  nights.  Last  night  I  had  less 
pain,  and  some  delightful  reflections.  Frequently 
when  about  to  fall  into  slumber,  I  would  awake 
repeating  some  consolatory  texts  which  I  did  not 
know  I  could  repeat.  Hoav  gracious  and  good  is  the 
Lord  to  me!' 

Again  she  said — 'I  have  a  strong  desu'e  to  die  this 
very  night,  if  it  were  the  will  of  God ;  but  "  his  will 
be  done." ' 

She  received  two  ministerial  visits  in  the  course  of 
the  day — the  one  from  the  Rev.  Dr  Smith  of  Biggar, 
and  the  other  from  Dr  Halley.  She  said — 'I  was 
impressed  with  one  of  Dr  Smith's  remarks — "  that  I 
should  be  willing  to  suffer  all  that  God  sends,  for  this 
was  just  bearing  part  of  Christ's  cross."  Yes,  I 
should,  especially  when  I  consider  the  glorv"  that  is 
to  follow.' 

Dr  Halley  gives  the  following  account  of  liis 
interview : — 

'  My  thu'd  and  last  visit  was  paid  to  her  on  this 
^londay.  She  was  very  feeble  that  day,  had  slept 
very  ill  the  preceding  night,  and  her  complaint 
e\adently  increased.  Wlien  I  called,  she  was  asleep, 
and  I  informed  your  brother  that  I  would  call 
some  other  day.  But  he  asked  me  to  stop  a  short 
while,   as  she  would  soon  be   awake,   which   I   did. 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  243 

When  I  saw  her  I  was  struck  with  the  cliange  that  a 
week  had  made  in  her  features.  Her  voice  was  weak, 
and  she  was  unfit  for  much  exertion.  I  did  not  stop 
above  ten  miimtes.  As  I  had  to  go  to  tlie  country  for 
three  weeks,  I  was  impressed  with  the  conviction  that 
this  would  be  my  last  visit  to  her,  as  it  teas.  The 
love  of  Christ,  and  the  extent  and  freeness  of  the 
divine  forgiveness,  were  the  subjects  of  my  conversa- 
tions with  her,  for  she  was  able  to  talk  very  little 
herself.  This  was  suggested  by  a  sermon  I  had 
heard  the  preceding  night,  from  Isaiah  Iv.  9  :  "  For 
as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are  my 
ways  higher  than  your  ways,  and  my  thoughts 
than  your  thoughts."  I  mentioned  to  her  that  the 
preacher  had  said  that  there  were  planets  so  distant 
that  their  light  had  not  yet  reached  us,  though  they 
had  shone  from  the  morning  of  the  creation.  Yet 
vast  as  was  the  idea  which  this  gave  us  of  the  extent 
of  the  heavens,  the  mercy  of  God  was  more  boundless 
still.  She  seemed  particularly  struck  with  this 
thought,  and  said — 

'  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner ! " 

'  I  alluded  to  the  language  of  scripture,  in  which 
God  is  said  to  blot  out  our  transgressions.  She  said — 
"O  may  mine  be  blotted  out,  for  Christ's  sake!" 
All  her  hopes  were  placed  on  the  Saviour,  and 
her  mind  appeared  calm  and  tranquil.  When  I 
was  leaving  her  after  prayer,  I  said  to  her,  "  Fare- 
well;   if  we  do  not  meet  again  on  earth,  we  shall 


244  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

meet  in  heaven."     To  wliicli   she  added,  loith  great 
promptitude — 

' "  Where  the  days  of  our  mourning  shall  be 
ended."' 

She  was  often  disposed  to  question  the  righteous- 
ness of  her  motives  in  desiring  to  leave  this  world. 

'  Can  it  be  sinful  1 '  she  inquired. 

'  Paul,'  I  answered,  '  was  in  a  strait  betwixt  two, 
having  a  desire  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ,  which 
is  far  better.' 

'  Well,  I  will  wait  on  the  Lord  ;  only  I  wish  I  could 
love  Christ  more  than  I  do.  Will  you  pray  at  pre- 
sent that  my  love  to  Christ  may  be  increased  ? ' 

I  complied  with  her  request.  '  I  heard  it  all,'  she 
said.  '  Yes,  he  himself  will  strengthen  my  attachment 
to  him.'  After  a  pause  she  said — '  And  this  is  dying. 
How  incomprehensible  and  mysterious  is  the  change 
at  death  !  we  cannot  know  it  now.'  I  repeated  to  her 
the  verse,  '  Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of  God  ;  and 
it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be  :  but  we  know 
that,  when  he  shall  appear,  Ave  shall  be  like  him ;  for 
we  shall  see  him  as  he  is.' 

'  That,'  she  said,  '  is  one  of  the  texts  that  occurred 
to  me  during  last  night.'     I  said — 

'  How  glorious  this  truth,  that  we  shall  know  even 
as  we  are  known  ! ' 

'  Yes ;  here  we  cannot  understand  the  full  happiness 
of  heaven.     It  is  impossible  that  such  sinful  beings  as 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  245 

we  are  can  understand  how  true  happiness  can  consist 
in  the  eternal  praises  of  God.' 

Observing  that  she  was  inclined  to  sleep,  I  retired, 
but  was  scarcely  gone  when  I  was  recalled.  She  took 
my  hand,  and  in  a  very  pitiful  tone  told  me  that  she 
had  su.ddenly  become  very  uneasy,  and  thought  that 
death  might  be  near. 

'  O  what  I  am  suffering  ! ' 

*  When  Christ  parted  with  his  disciples,'  I  said,  '  he 
forewarned  them  that  they  should  have  to  endure  much 
on  his  account.' 

'  Yes,'  she  replied,  '  what  he  promised  was  this — 
"  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation."  His  will 
be  done.' 

At  her  request  many  passages    of  scripture   were 
repeated,   with  which,   as  usual,   she   felt  her   mind 
strengthened.     Afterwards  her  countenance  assumed 
a  most  fascinating  expression  of  calm  trust ;  it  was 
the  very  emblem  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit.     While  I 
engaged  in  this  evening's  family  prayer,  she  was  sup- 
ported in  the  arms  of  one  of  her  brothers,  her  head 
bending  forward,   and    her  body  racked  with  pain. 
She  endured  it  without  a  murmur,  and  as  I  prayed, 
her  soul  seemed  to  be  enjoying  perfect  peace.     A  dis- 
ciple of  Jesus,  she  had  been  taught  by  the  Lamb  of 
G  od  himself  thus  to  suffer  and  thus  to  endure.    Could 
philosophy,  could  worldly  maxims,  could  natural  forti- 
tude have  thus  sustained  her  ?     Impossible.     It  is  the 
heroism  of  the  christian,  imbibed  at  the  foot  of  the 


246  THE  NIGHT  LA31P. 

cross,  that  now  shuts  those  pale  lips,  and  lights  up  that 
eye  with  resignation  even  in  this  dark  and  troubled 
hour.  '  This  is  the  victory  that  overcometh — even  her 
faith.'' 

July  17,  Tuesday. — She  experienced  a  very  weak 
turn  this  forenoon.  Mr  Law  of  Dunfermline  called, 
and  gave  her  a  soothing  addi'ess  and  prayer.  She 
made  a  great  effort  to  keep  up  during  his  presence, 
but  derived  little  comfort  fi-om  his  kind  attention.  We 
were  impressed  that  she  was  dying,  and  watched  at 
her  couch. 

'  Speak  to  me  about  Jesus.  The  time  is  short.  I 
grieve  that  I  cannot  occupy  it  fully.' 

I  thought  this  a  favourable  time  to  propose  the  fol- 
lowing question : — 

'  Do  you  recollect  any  period  of  your  life  in  which 
you  began  to  think  more  seriously  about  religion  and 
its  great  importance "? ' 

'  No,  I  cannot  say  that  I  do.  I  certainly  was  some- 
times more  seriously  impressed  than  at  others — some- 
times more  regular  at  my  morning  and  evening 
prayers,  and  in  the  reading  of  the  Bible ;  and  I  uni- 
formly found  that  the  more  regularly  I  discharged  these 
duties,  I  was  the  less  inclined  to  sin  and  wander  from 
God.  But  in  general  it  was  a  careless  life.  I  might 
say  my  prayers,  but  no  sooner  had  I  left  my  closet 
than  all  was  forgotten.  I  did  not  derive  that  real 
comfort  from  religion  which  now  so  powerfully  sup- 
ports me,  because  I  did  not  then  feel  sin  to  be  the 


THE  FliUITS  OF  PEACE,  247 

abominable  thing  I  now  feel  it  to  be ;  nor  did  I  then 
see  Jesus  to  be  the  suitable  Saviour  I  now  see  him  to 
be.  I  did  indeed  make  a  profession,  but  it  was  nothing 
more ;  my  heart  was  in  this  world  and  its  follies ;  it  was 
not  given  to  God.' 

'  Is  there  any  ted't  which  is  your  favourite  ? ' 
'No,  there  are  so  many,  all  so  beautiful,  and  so 
consolatory.' 

'  Is  there  any  doctrine  of  Christianity  upon  which 
you  specially  dehght  to  dwell  V 

'My  repose  is  upon  the  doctrines  of  the  cross  in 

general,  specially,  of  course,  on  the  atonement  of  Christ 

for  sin.     I  am  trusting  to  it  for  my  soul's  eternal  life.' 

Having  prayed  with  her  at  her  own  request,  she 

remarked — 

'  It  is  grand  to  be  with  God  in  prayer — he  hears 
and  he  answers.  I  recollect  well  how  your  prayers 
sustained  me  during  that  dark,  dark  week,  when  my 
mind  was  tossed  to  and  fro  with  doubts  and  fears. 
Your  replies  solved  my  doubts;  your  selection  of 
appropriate  scriptm*es  dissipated  my  fears.  I  wish 
I  could  now  recall  these  despondings,  just  that  I 
might  hear  these  passages  and  your  explanations  over 
again.' 

She  was  easy  in  the  afternoon,  and,  as  she  said, 
wished  us  to  assist  her  in  finishing  her  worldly  busi- 
ness. Having  got  her  books,  portfolios,  writing-desk, 
etc.,  placed  in  the  bed,  she  gave  minute  instructions 
as  to  how  all  were  to  be  disposed  of,  leaving  her  French 


248  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Testament  to  one,  lier  English  Bible  to  another,  her 
pencil-case  to  a  third,  her  eye-glass  to  a  fourth,  and 
great  numbers  of  her  drawings  to  her  other  acquain- 
tances. To  a  young  lady,  one  of  her  most  attached 
companions,  who,  at  her  request,  was  arranging  some 
articles  of  dress,  she  said  with  great  sweetness, 

'Alison,  do  not  weep — I  hope  soon  to  get  better 
clothing.' 

The  composure — I  coidd  almost  say  the  indifference 
— with  which  this  scene  was  gone  through,  was  remark- 
able. She  greatly  prized  these  things  once ;  they 
were  all  now,  in  her  estimation,  '  trifles  light  as  air,' 
compared  with  the  crown  she  was  expecting.  No 
one  could  have  suspected  that  she  was  dying,  and 
parting  for  ever  vAth.  what  once  she  valued  so  much. 
When  done  with  this  work,  she  returned  to  another 
of  a  different  description.  As  she  set  apart  the  tokens 
of  regard  she  had  reserved  for  her  eldest  brother,  she 
said  to  me — 

'  I  am  grieved  on  his  account ;  he  must  soon  be  a 
widower  ;  Janet  is  dying.  Hers  is  a  valuable  hfe.  It 
matters  not  to  any  though  I  die,  for  I  am  useless  in 
this  world ;  but  I  am  vexed  for  poor  James  if  she  be 
taken  away  from  him  and  her  two  dear  infants.  May 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him !' 

JuLf  18,  AYednesdat. — She  employed  part  of  this 
day  in  committing  to  memory  some  of  her  favourite 
hymns,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  frequently  repeat- 
m.<y  them. 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  249 

Some  one  had  ventured  to  express  the  hope  that  she 
might  yet  be  spared.  I  said,  that  in  that  case,  it  was 
as  necessaiy  to  prepare  for  life  as  for  death. 

^  ISIore  so,'  she  re])lied  ;  '  much  more  so  ;'  and  slie 
continued  in  a  musing  frame  to  repeat  these  words : 
'  more  so — much  more  so ;'  indicating  her  impression 
that  she  dreaded  return  to  the  world  more  than  death. 
The  remainder  of  the  evening  was  devoted  to  the 
reading  of  some  of  the  Psalms,  and  the  meditations  of 
'  sweet  Willison.' 

On  the  two  following  days,  Thm'sday  and  Friday, 
she  agam  suffered  extremely  from  pain,  and  again 
fled  to  prayer  in  her  time  of  need. 

'■  You  seem  to  have  much  pleasure  in  prayer,' 
I  said. 

'  Yes ;  I  like  to  be  always  asking,  for  I  am 
always  needing ;  besides,  it  is  they  that  ask  who 
receive.' 

She  requested  me  to  converse  with  her  about 
death,  '  lest,'  she  said,  '  I  forget  that  I  am  dying.' 
Then  she  suggested  that  heaven  should  be  the  next 
subject  of  conversation,  saying  Avith  her  wonted  ani- 
mation, '  What  a  mysterious  place  it  is  !  We  always 
suppose  it  to  be  above  us.  This  may  arise  fi'om  our 
ideas  of  its  exalted  grandeur',  and  superiority  even  to 
the  most  splendid  orbs  of  the  firmament.  We  think 
heaven  outstrips  all  these,  and  rises  far  above  them 
all,  because  it  is  better  than  them  all.' 

On  the   afternoon  of  Saturday  I  had  to  return  to 
l2 


250  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Kincardine.  In  bidding  her  good  bye,  she  said,  as 
she  held  my  hand  in  hers  : 

'  God  has  been  very  kind  to  me  through  the  week. 
I  have  had  much  restlessness,  but  not  so  much  acute 
pain.     You  are  going  away;  come  soon  back;   and 

if  anything  occur  in  the  meantime,  they  will 

write  you.'  I  commended  her  to  God,  kissed  her  pale 
brow,  and  left  her. 

Saturday  and  Sabbath  nights  were  sleepless.  As 
she  reclined  on  her  brother  William,  she  said,  '  You 
have  so  often  supported  me  dming  my  illness,  that  I 
should  like  to  die  in  your  arms.  Meanwhile  pray  for 
me,  that  God  will  not  punish  me  above  what  I  am 
able  to  bear;  and  that  he  would  keep  me  alive,  in 
the  midst  of  my  pain,  to  my  eternal  interests.' 

'  I  wish,'  she  said,  on  the  Monday  following  (July 
23), '  that  you  would  teach  me  that  hymn,  beginning: 

'0  for  a  closer  walk  with  God ! 

A  calm  and  heavenly  frame  ! 
A  light  to  shine  upon  the  road 

That  leads  me  to  the  Lamb ! ' 

In  the  evening  she  said — 'I  am  delighted  with  this 

sentence  from  Arrowsmith :  "  Faith  can  support  when 

nature  shrinks.     Faith  can  call  God  Father  when  he 

frowns,  and  make  some  discovery  of  a  smi  through  the 

darkest  cloud.'" 

She  contmued  daily  to   exercise  herself  unto  all 

godliness  during  the  whole  of  this  week,  and  mani- 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  251 

tested  the  same  unvarying  patience  under  all  her 
trials.  On  the  Friday,  a  little  cloud  returned  to 
remind  her  that  she  must  not  yet  enjoy  the  'climes  of 
the  cloudless'  in  the  'happy  land.'  She  said — 'Oh, 
I  wish  God  soon  to  finish  his  purposes  with  me  on 
earth  !  I  tremble  lest  all  my  patience  be  exhausted ; 
and  yet  what  mercies  are  in  my  lot !  What  kind 
brothers !  I  feel  for  you  all.  The  time  shall  come 
when  you  must  be  as  I  am  now,  but  I  shall  not  be 
there  to  help  you.  Make  God  your  friend,  and  he 
will  provide.     He  is  "  Jehovah-jireh." ' 

Again : 

'  Ah !  I  am  a  sinner !  How  difficult  to  attend  to 
godly  things !' 

'  God  is  a  God  of  mercy,'  it  was  replied,  '  and  will 
abmidantly  pardon.' 

'  This  is  my  only  comfort,  except  when  I  remem- 
ber that  God  is  a  God  of  justice  as  well  as  of  mercy. 
What  if  I  am  presuming  too  much  on  his  promises !' 
The  text  was  repeated  : 

'  Christ  bore  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the 
accursed  tree.'  She  immediately  took  it  up,  and 
repeated  it,  and  a  great  many  others,  descriptive  of 
the  loving-kindness  of  God,  and  of  his  wonderful 
compassion  and  forbearance. 

'You  seem  somewhat  sad  this  evening.  Is  there 
anything  particular  per^ilexing  you  V 

'  Yes ;  I  am  thmking  that  I  committed  a  great 
sin   last   winter,  in   not   taking   the   Lord's  Supper 


252  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

when   I   had   it   in   ray   power.     Oh,    what   an    in- 
difference to  spiritual  things  did  that  manifest !' 

She  was  reminded  that  this  was  not  an  unpardon- 
able sin;  and  that,  besides,  she  was  in  Edinbui'gh 
onlj  as  a  visitor. 

'  All  true ;  but  it  tested  the  state — I  was  not  then  a 
christian.  O  what  a  blessing  that  I  have  been  spared 
to  repent !' 

After  a  pause,  she  said — 'I  am  anxious  to  know 
if  there  be  anything  in  the  rules  of  our  church  to 
prevent  me  partaking  of  the  holy  Supper  befoi'e  I 
die,  to  show  my  love  to  Jesus,  and  my  regard  for 
his  dying  commandment.'  She  seemed  disajjpointed 
when  it  was  stated  that  this  was  a  clnu'ch,  not  a 
private,  orchnance ;  that  its  design  was  to  manifest  to 
the  world  the  christian's  glorying  in  the  cross;  that 
there  is  no  authority  in  scripture  for  its  observance 
in  secret;  and  that  the  doing  so  has  led  to  the 
profanity  of  the  institution. 

On  Sabbath  the  29th  she  was  much  engaged  with 
the  Bible,  and  with  the  ^  marrow^  of  Wilhsou,  as  she 
described  it.  Tnily  she  made  good  use  of  this  author. 
She  was  often  made  joyful  by  his  words,  and  treasured 
up  in  her  memory  many  of  his  pious  ejaculations,  that, 
as  she  said,  she  might  repeat  them  dming  her  sleepless 
nights.     She  frequently  read  this  one  in  prayer : 

'  O  that  I  may  drop  my  anchor  at  midnight  upon 
the  Rock  of  Ages,  to  look  out  for  the  dawning  of 
the  day !' 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  253 

Then  she  added — 'What  a  security!  to  cast  the 
anchor  of  my  hope  upon  Jesus — this  is  indeed  security  T 

She  learned  the  following  short  prayer,  saying 
concerning  it,  'It  is  a  rich  treasiu*e  to  me,  though  I 
remember  nothing  else :' 

' "  Father,  into  thy  hands  I  commit  my  spirit !" 
By  the  hands  of  Him  who  hath  redeemed  it,  let  it  be 
presented  to  thee  "without  spot,  or  wrinkle,  or  any 
such  tiling."'  She  said — 'I  am  greatly  pleased  with 
this  idea  of  Christ  presenting  with  his  own  hand  to 
his  Father  the  saints  he  has  redeemed  with  his  own 
blood.     Even  so  may  I  be  presented  at  that  day !' 

At  the  close  of  this  exercise  she  remarked — '  I  wish 
I  had  had  strength  to  commit  to  memory  a  few  more 
of  these  cheering  meditations.  I  have  never  spent 
such  a  happy  forenoon.     I  thank  God  for  it.' 

The  serious  reader  of  Agnes'  death-bed  sayings 
must  by  this  time  have  noticed  one  peculiarity  for 
wdiich  they  are  remarkable — their  beautiful  simplicity 
and  artlessness.  If  it  were  not  that  it  is  to  spiritual 
things  they  mainly  refer,  her  style  of  con  versing  on  these 
might  be  characterised  as  exceedingly  natural.  It  was 
manifest  that  no  effort  was  ever  made  merely  to  please 
others,  or  produce  an  impression  in  her  favour,  or  to 
preserve  a  consistency  in  the  enactment  of  a  pait. 
True  piety  is  seen  in  her  under  its  various  lights  and 
shades,  corresponding  with  what  at  different  times 
were  her  views  and  impressions  of  divine  things.  On 
one  day  her  spirit  reposes  on  God's  love  like  an  infant 


254  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

on  the  maternal  bosom  ;  her  mind  is  in  perfect  peace, 
all  is  sunlight,  and  only  the  music  of  hope  is  heard, 
gently  stealing  from  the  recesses  of  her  happy  soul, 
just  as  come  forth  the  sweet  sounds  of  an  ^olian 
harp,    when   in    '  stilly   night '    the    playful    zephyr 
sweeps   o'er   its    chords.     On    the   next,  there   is   a 
tremulousness  in  the  voice,  an  anxiety  in  the  look,  a 
sternness  even  in  the  expression,  telling  that  the  har- 
mony within  has  been  disturbed,  and  that  the  canopy 
above  has  begun  to  lower  and  tlireaten ;  then  follow  the 
sudden  starts  of  a  holy  timidity,  the  swift  sweep  of  the 
thoughts  over  the  solemnities  which  she  knows  must 
soon  be  confronted,  along  with  the  sickness  and  faint- 
ness  of  spiritual  perplexity  and  fear.     On  one  day  she 
is  seen  enjo}dng  the  very  luxuiy  of  the  full  assiu'ance 
of  faith ;  she  has  ascertained  it  for  herself  that  heaven 
is  to  be  her  inheritance,  and  greatly  does  she  long  to 
have  her  passport  signed.      From  the  lofty  summit  of 
her  rock — Jesus  Christ — she  sees  the  promised  land 
in  the  distance,  and  longs  for  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that 
she  might  fly  and  be  at  rest.     Wrapped  within  the 
ample  folds  of  '  the  best  robe,'  the  righteousness  of  her 
Lord  and  Saviour,  she  shudders  not  even  in  the  cold 
damps  of  her  d}ing  night.      Leaning  upon  the  top  of 
old  Jacob's  staff — the  covenant  promises  of  Jacob's 
God — she  w^orships  and  glorifies  Jehovah  even  in  the 
midst  of  terrible  tribulation  ;  and  carrying  in  her  hand 
the  Lamp  of  divine  truth,  no  cloud  obscures  the  path 
in  which,  with  gladsome  songs,  she  nms  her  onward 


THE  FRUITS  OF  PEACE.  255 

course.  By  to-morrow's  dawn  she  appears  as  if  the 
rock  had  sunk,  and  the  staff  had  been  broken,  and  the 
lamp  had  gone  out :  from  the  miry  clay  she  seems  to 
cry  for  deliverance,  and  to  go  about  '  mourning  as 
without  the  sun.'  Then  come  the  more  sober  and 
subdued  views  of  an  ordinary  degree  of  faith,  which 
neither  elevate  to  the  former  raptures,  nor  depress  to 
the  latter  terrors,  but  which  sufficiently  uphold  her 
spirit  in  the  comforts  and  hopes  of  the  gospel  of  God. 
Even  these  no  doubt  may  now  and  again  be  somewhat 
varied,  as  a  passing  cloud  on  the  right  hand  or  on  the 
left  for  a  moment  shades  the  scene  ;  but  the  regular 

^  CD 

condition  of  the  inner  man  most  pleasingly  corresponds 
with  what  scripture  assures  us  is  to  be  the  latter  end 
of  the  perfect  and  upright — peace.  So  far  as  we 
have  proceeded,  such  seems  now  to  be  the  spiritual 
character  of  her  piety.  We  shall  not  have  to  discover 
any  more  of  its  extremes;  the  frail  bark  of  her 
mortality  is  now  nearing  the  shores  of  etemitv, 
and  the  divine  Spirit  proportions  the  breeze  to  the 
strength  of  the  vessel,  and  to  the  short  distance  that 
remains  to  be  traversed.  Waft,  waft  her  home,  O 
Spirit  of  the  Lord,  that  thy  weary  and  tempest-tossed 
child  may  die,  and  suffer  pain  no  more  !  * 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  xi. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


STfje  Assurance  of  ?^ope. 

'  Unfading  Hope  I  when  life's  last  embers  burn  ; 
When  soul  to  soul  and  dust  to  dust  return  ! 
Heaven  to  thy  charge  resigns  the  awful  hour, 
0  then  thy  kingdom  come,  Immortal  Power ! 
What  though  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture  fly  ; 
The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye ; 
Bright  to  the  soul  thy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream  of  life's  eternal  day. 
Then,  then  the  triumph  and  the  trance  begin, 
And  all  the  Phoenix  spirit  burns  within.' 

Campbell. 

They  who  sit  ^in  the  seat  of  the  scornful'  affect  con- 
tempt for  religion  on  account  of  what  they  term  its 
sameness — its  invariable  and  iminteresting  sameness. 
It  is,  according  to  them,  a  perpetual  harping  upon  the 
same  key ;  and  if  there  be  apparent  variations,  these 
are  not  so  much  occasioned  by  a  change  of  the  music 
as  by  the  differences  of  voice  and  intonation  among 
the  members  of  the  orchestra ;  or,  it  is  just  a  kaleide- 
scope,  by  the  continual  turning  round  and  roiuid  of 
which,  pretty  enough  figures  are  cast  up,  and  these 
never  in  all  respects  alike,  but  the   pebbles  are  the 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  257 

same;  there  is  never  any  new  element,  never  any 
addition  to  what  is  ah*eady  in  existence.  For  example, 
amone;  the  so-called  saints  there  is  continual  dwellinir 
upon  the  subjects  of  sin  and  their  own  unworthiness, 
of  Christ  and  his  salvation,  of  faith  and  its  necessity, 
of  death  and  its  solemnities,  and  of  heaven  and  its 
felicities ;  so  that  if  we  strike  out  but  a  few  words 
from  their  religious  vocabulary,  we  leave  them  without 
a  language — if  we  ch'op  'the  shibboleth'  from  their 
creed,  and  strip  them  of  party  signs,  we  uncanonise 
them  all,  and  prove  that  in  rehgion  there  is  httle  else 
than  sound,  and  this  sovuid  nothing  but  a  monotone. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  there  is  a  sameness  in 
religion ;  but  if  this  be  a  reflection  upon  it,  it  is  one 
which,  with  equal  propriety,  may  be  cast  upon  Him 
who  is  at  once  its  author  and  object.  God  himself  is 
the  unchangeable  God ;  hence  the  beauty  and  sub- 
limity of  the  addresses  of  the  Psalmist :  '  Of  old  hast 
thou  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth ;  and  the  heavens 
are  the  work  of  thy  hands.  They  shall  perisli,  but  thou 
shalt  endure ;  yea,  all  of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a 
garment :  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou  change  them,  and 
they  shall  be  changed  ;  hut  thou  art  the  same,  ami  thy 
years  shall  have  no  eml.^  God  is  the  Father  of  lights, 
who  is  '  without  variableness  or  shadow  of  turning ;' 
and  if  he  were  not  so,  he  could  not  be  the  ijerfecl  and 
the  holy  One  whom  we  are  bound  to  love  and  adore. 
The  charge  also  reflects  upon  Jesus  Christ,  who  is 
said  to  be  '  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever  ;' 


258  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

and,  indeed,  it  takes  within  its  blasphemous  compre- 
hension the  whole  subject  of  religion,  from  God  upon 
the  throne  down  to  the  insect  which  takes  its  life  from 
his  fiat.  Because,  therefore,  our  religion  is  divine,  it 
is  ever  the  same  in  its  elements  and  principles,  in  its 
varieties  of  joy  and  song,  in  its  pleasures  of  hope  and 
imagination,  in  its  modes  of  thought,  its  style  of 
expression,  and  its  grounds  of  boasting.  But  there 
is  no  such  sameness  in  it  as  the  scomer  insinuates. 
There  may  be  a  perpetual  expression  of  devout  ex- 
periences, from  the  same  truths  and  prospects,  but  to 
these  are  ever  imparted  the  charms  of  novelty ;  and 
the  same  cup  may  be  day  after  day  taken  without  any 
change  of  contents,  but  the  spiritual  appetites  are 
ever  changing,  and  mth  new  zest  each  draught  is 
swallowed,  as  if  the  cup  had  never  before  been  quaffed. 
The  eye  of  faith  is  constantly  making  new  discoveries 
in  the  Bible,  and  consequently  new  streams  of  satisfac- 
tion are  ever  flowing  towards  the  heart.  God  himself 
is  ever  conferring  new  manifestations  of  his  glory  and 
his  love  to  the  contrite  spirit,  and  hence  that  spirit's 
uninterrupted  recourse  to  him  and  his  covenant 
engagements  for  its  daily  happiness.  The  renewed 
soul  has  but  made  the  discovery  that  its  present  satis- 
faction in  religion  is  the  mere  epitome  of  celestial 
beatitudes — only  the  beginning  of  a  feast — the  pre- 
libations  and  foretastes  of  spiritual  dainties,  the  full 
enjoyment  of  which  is  futm*e.  Hence,  under  the 
teaching  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  is  peculiarly  the 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  259 

privilege  of  the  believer,  he  is  never  conscious  of  satiety. 
He  feels  a  stronger  relish  for  his  religion  the  more  he 
practises  its  principles,  the  more  he  meditates  on  its 
statutes,  and  the  more  he  ruminates  its  blissful  pro- 
mises. It  is  new  to  him  every  morning,  and  it  is  new 
again  every  evening.  He  revels,  indeed,  in  variety. 
This  is  the  very  law  of  his  new  and  spiritual  condition. 
He  obeys  it,  and  he  cannot  resist  it.  Moved  forward 
by  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  divine  truths  from  behind, 
and  by  an  all-powerful  fascination  from  such  truths 
yet  to  be  imbibed,  he  never  wearies,  never  flags,  and 
never  feels  that,  either  to  the  extent  of  their  influence 
or  of  his  own  desires,  he  has  apprehended  them  or  by 
them  been  apprehended.  There  is  but  ^ one  thing'' 
that  is  needful ;  but  then  how  vast  are  its  dimensions ! 
Its  heights  he  is  ever  scaling,  but  never  reaching  ;  its 
depths  he  is  ever  fathoming,  but  he  never  touches 
the  bottom ;  its  breadths  he  is  ever  measuring,  bvit  he 
never  completes  them ;  and  its  lengths  he  is  ever  com- 
puting, but  he  has  never  been,  and  never  can  be  able 
to  so  as  far  back  nor  to  reach  as  far  forward  as  the 
eternity  which  is  coeval  with  its  past,  and  which  is  to 
be  the  witness  of  its  future  existence.  True,  God  is 
ever  the  same  ;  but  then  he  is  '  infinite :'  hence  there 
cannot  be  any  sameness  in  his  people's  study  of  his 
incommunicable  perfections.  God  is  ever  the  same  ; 
but  then  he  is  'from  everlasting  to  everlasting:'  hence 
there  never  can  be  sameness  at  any  ftiture  period,  how- 
ever remote,  of  his  people's  exercises  upon  him.    God  is 


260  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

incomprehensible :  hence,  through  all  eternity,  religion 
shall  afford  an  unending  and  ever-expanding  flow  of 
delicious  novelties,  alike  as  to  the  abstract  matter  of 
study,  and  the  internal  experiences  of  the  celestial 
students. 

The  sneer  at  saintship  to  which  these  observations 
have  reference  is  thus  groundless,  as  eA^ery  other  sneer 
at  such  a  subject  must  be.    It  is  also  most  inconsistent, 
as  made  by  the  men  of  the  world,  who  have  chosen 
for  their  portion  the  pleasures  and  profits  of  sin,  than 
which  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceive  of  anything 
more  absolutely  same  and  sickening.     Sameness  for- 
sooth !  are  not  irreligious  persons  the  victims  of  that 
very  curse  ?     They  are  ever  seeking  satisfaction,  but 
never  finding  it,  in  the  service  of  the  world,  the  devil, 
and  the  flesh.     That  service  is  ever  the  same  dull, 
unvaried,  and  unvarying  round  of  contemptible  pur- 
suits and  pantings,  where  no  such  thing  as  satisfaction 
to  the  immortal  soul  can  be  obtained — so  monotonous, 
so  nauseating  are  they,  that  he  who  compassed  them 
all,  flung  back  upon  the  world,  where  they  have  place 
and  influence,  tliis  scornful  but  truthful  estimate  of 
their  real  value  :  '  V^v^^ity  of  vanities,  saith  the 
preacher;  vanity  of  vanities;  all  is  vanity.' 
While,  then,  the  votaries  of  this  earth's  fashions  and 
follies  pronounce  them  all  in  the  end  to  be  vanity, 
and  therefore  condemn  them,  it  ought  not  to  be  for- 
gotten that  no  religious  individual   has  ever  borne 
such  testimony   against  religion.     Complaints  there 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE,  2Gl 

have  been  that  the  soul  had  not  yet  found  her  rest, 
and  that  clouds  may  occasionally  hover  around  and 
obscure  her  prospects,  but  these  complaints  do  not 
affect  religion  itself;  they  are  made  against  the  per- 
sonal weakness  of  him  who  fails  to  realise  to  the  fall 
the  pleasures  of  piety.  The  weeping  and  lamentation, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  are  heard  coming  from  the 
desolated  hearths  and  cheerless  spirits  of  worldlings, 
are  pathetic  witnesses  to  the  poverty  of  the  outward 
portion,  and  to  the  inward  mortification  of  those  who 
have  tried  and  tested  it  in  every  form,  and  at  length 
have  cast  it  away,  as  ever  the  same  cheating,  lying, 
tantalising,  and  soul-destroying  phantom. 

Such  views  as  these  should  be  well  considered,  when 
we  peruse  an  account  of  the  death-bed  exercises  of 
a  saint.  As  from  day  to  day  we  watch  the  progress 
of  disease,  and  witness  the  same  faith  and  the  same 
patience  of  the  sufferer,  we  are  very  apt,  especially  if, 
as  in  Agnes'  case,  the  period  of  affliction  be  prolonged, 
to  grow  weary  over  the  constant  repetition  of  the  same 
religious  truths,  and  the  unvarying  (as  to  us  it  may 
appear)  phases  of  the  mystery  of  faith  which  is  there 
displayed.  Christian  attendants  have,  in  conse- 
quence, been  often  betrayed  into  listlessness  towards 
the  latter  end  of  such  a  death-bed  as  was  hers.  For 
the  same  reason,  christian  biography  has  sometimes 
failed  to  sustain  its  interest  in  the  reader's  mind. 
Having  ascertained  the  religious  condition,  and  ana- 
lysed a  few  of  the  religious  experiences  of  the  subject 


262  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

of  the  memorial,  the  attention  is  apt  to  flag,  and  the 
appetite  is  in  danger  of  being  nauseated.  This  should 
be  guarded  against,  for  reasons  sufficiently  obvious 
to  the  pious  reader.  It  should  be  remembered  that 
the  entire  work  of  the  dying  scene  is  the  work  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  that  as  He  continues  to  advance  his 
suffering  child  in  holy  knowledge,  and  to  open  up  to 
him,  day  by  day,  other  and  higher  views  of  boundless 
truth,  and  otlier  and  richer  supplies  of  inexhaustible 
grace,  it  may  therefore  confidently  be  expected  that, 
to  the  patient  and  humble  student  of  the  whole,  scenes 
shall  be  gradually  vouchsafed  of  new  and  interesting- 
discoveries  of  the  results  of  the  divine  life.  Had 
such  attention  been  maintained  at  many  death-beds 
of  which  we  have  got  no  account,  the  precious  stores 
of  religious  biography  must  have  been  enriched  by 
many  additional  illustrations  of  the  power  and  practice 
of  Christianity,  whether  among  the  humble  poor  or 
the  godly  rich. 

Let  the  devout  reader  come  forward  to  the  perusal 
of  the  closing  portions  of  this  work  under  such  im- 
pressions, and  it  may  be,  he  shall  not  only  be  uncon- 
scious of  sameness,  but  the  very  reverse.  He  may 
find  out,  to  his  delight,  that,  whereas  he  may  meet 
with  nothing  absolutely  new  or  startling,  he  receives 
a  new  rehsh  for  old  and  famihar  truths  and  scenes, 
and  derives  additional  improvement  and  pleasure  from 
their  study.  Death-bed  work  ought  to  be  intensely 
interesting  to  every  one.      We  are   all   rapidly  ap- 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  203 

proacliing  it ;  and  if  we  are  to  die  safely  and  com- 
fortably, sucli  are  the  very  truths,  such  the  veiy 
expressions,  and  such  the  very  sources  of  strength 
and  hope,  and  no  others,  to  which  we  ourselves  must 
have  recourse.  One  thing  is  certain  :  however  we 
may  feel  now,  in  the  hey-day  of  health  and  confidence, 
when  that  solemn  hour  strikes  which  consigns  us  to 
preparation  for  God  and  eternity,  we  shall  be  per- 
suaded to  flee  to  these,  and  these  alone,  as  at  once  our 
stronghold  in  the  day  of  evil,  and  our  earnest  business 
in  the  day  of  death. 

August  1,  Wednesday. — After  an  unaA^oidable 
absence  of  ten  days,  I  was  permitted  to  return  this 
morning  to  the  chamber — no  longer  of  conflict  and 
cloud,  but  of  'joy  and  peace  in  believing.'  It  could 
not  have  surprised  me  though  she  had  died  on  any 
day  dm'ing  the  interval,  so  much  had  she  suftered, 
and  so  greatly  exhausted  was  her  strength,  if 
'  strength '  that  feeble,  flickering  flow^  of  life  can  be 
called  wdiich  remained.  Changed  as  she  had  been 
before,  I  was  prepared  to  witness  a  greater  one,  and 
such  was  the  case.  O  the  tale  of  agony  endured  by 
night  and  by  day  without  a  murmur  which  that  wan 
and  weary  expression  told!  The  clearness  of  the 
eye  was  gone,  the  places  wdiere  beauty  lingered  were 
deserted,  and  even  the  signs  of  mental  application  were 
few  and  separated.  There  was  nothing  to  gladden  in 
the  pitiful  smile  which  arose  upon  her  desolated 
features,  as  I  sat  down  in  the  usual  chair.     Long  had 


264  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

she  been  afflicted,  and  there  still  was  she  enduring 
affliction.  Often  had  she  sighed  and  cried  for  de- 
liverance,  but  there  was  she  still  in  much  tribulation. 
On  different  occasions  had  she  rejoiced  in  the  thought 
that  the  scene  was  about  to  close,  and  that  she  was 
now  to  die;  but  her  faith  and  patience  were  to  be 
subjected  to  additional  trials.  If  ever  there  was  a 
waiter  upon  the  Lord,  she  was  one;  and  certainly 
she  waited  on  him  '  more  than  they  that  w^atch  for 
the  morning ;  I  say,  more  than  they  that  w^atch  for 
the  morning.'  * 

'  I  have  wearied  for  you,'  she  said ;  '  you  have  been 
long  of  coming.  Do  you  laiow  any  difference  on  mel 
Is  not  my  eye  dimmer?  I  saw  myself  yesterday  in 
the  mirror.  For  a  lono;  time  nurse  would  not  let  me 
have  it,  lest  I  should  be  overcome  with  the  change 
upon  my  face,  but  how  could  she  think  so?' 

'  I  hope  God  has  not  changed  in  the  dispensation 
of  his  loving-kinchiess  to  your  soul.' 

^  No,  no ;  God  is  good,  and  his  mercy  endureth  for 
ever.' 

She  then  told  me  of  her  increasing  satisfaction  in 
the  sciiptures,  and  her  delight  also  in  the  works  of 
Willison.     She  said — 

'  I  consider  him  one  of  the  best  of  comforters.  He 
wi'ites  as  if  he  knew  my  most  secret  wants.' 

'  That,'  I  replied,  '  is  easily  accounted  for.     God's 
children  have  the  same  wants,  and  they  must  speak 
*  See  '  Tlie  Hiding  Place,'  p.  232. 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  205 

the  same  language  in  giving  expression  to  them. 
They  have  the  same  Father  to  address,  the  same 
grace  to  thank  him  for,  and  the  same  Spirit  to  lead 
them  into  all  truth.' 

'  Yes,  but  they  have  not  all  the  same  amount  of 
sufferings.     How  prolonged,  who  lingering  are  mine  !' 

'  True,  but  you  have  not  been  afflicted  above  what 
3'OU  have  been  enabled  to  bear;  and  you  have  the 
same  grace  made  sufficient  for  you  that  carried  the 
mart,}Ts  through  their  fiery  trials.  You  are  apt  to 
think  your  afflictions  heavy,  but  remember  what 
is  said:  "Our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a 
moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and 
an  eternal  weight  of  glor}%"  ' 

'  And  yet  I  hope,'  she  said,  '  that  there  is  no  sin  in 
my  desire  to  have  this  work  finished :  it  is  lingering, 
lingering.' 

'  No,  I  do  not  think  there  is  sin  in  such  a  desire,  if 
it  be  kept  free  from  impatience  or  discontent.  Paul 
desired  it — the  Saviour  himself  prayed  for  the  passing 
away  of  the  cup.  It  were  unnatural  to  desire  pain, 
and  it  cannot  be  sinful  to  wish  to  be  free  from  it,  if 
you  are  conscious  of  sincerity  in  adding,  "  not  my  will, 
but  thine  be  done."  We  are  never  ready  till  we  die ; 
till  we  die,  then,  we  should  for  that  reason  be  content 
to  live ;  to  live  even  in  such  a  furnace  as  yours.' 

'  Well,'  she  rejoined,  'I  do  not  think  that  my  desires 
to  depart  can  arise  altogether  from  the  wish  to  escape 
this  trial  of  my  faith.     It  must  be  also  from  love  to 

M 


266  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Jesus ;  not  fi'om  the  mere  blank  idea  of  deliverance 
from  pain ;  for  how  could  I,  a  poor  creature  like  me, 
view  death,  the  grave,  eternity,  if  love  for  C-hrist  and 
love  to  Christ  did  not  sustain  meV 

Such  was  the  result  of  much  examination  on  her 
part  into  the  state  of  her  mind,  of  Avhich  she  Avas 
every  day  becoming  more  and  more  conscious — a 
desire  to  depart.  She  had  for  a  while  been  much 
distressed  as  to  the  propriety  of  allowing  such  desires 
to  get  an  ascendancy,  and  had  in  consequence  sub- 
jected them  to  strict  and  godly  scrutiny.  Her 
tender  yearnings  after  the  path  of  duty  were  now^ 
reconsidered.  She  saw  how  she  could  check  the 
longing,  and  at  the  same  time  eschew  the  sin  that 
hovers  in  its  neighbourhood.  All  her  affections  were 
thus  elevated ;  she  seemed  now  to  have  risen  still 
liigher  with  Chi'ist,  and,  as  on  eagle's  wings,  she 
was  daily  soaring  upwards  to  contemplate,  in  the 
intensity  of  this  passion,  the  reality  of  that  joy  which 
his  actual  presence  would  call  forth.* 

We  joined  in  prayer.  While  thus  engaged,  I 
noticed  that  she  was  unusually  much  affected,  and 
frequently  shook  her  drooping  head.  So  soon  as  I 
said  amen,  she  broke  forth  into  weeping,  and  said : 

'  O  how  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come  at  length  ! 
I  have  missed  these  prayers ;  yes,  very  much.  I  can 
only  snatch  a  word  or  two  at  a  time  myself.  How 
glad  I  am  that  you  have  returned ! ' 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  p.  211. 


THE  ASSURAXCE  OF  HOPE.  267 

She  observed  me  weeping,  and  checked  me,  sa^-ing, 
*  You  need  not  Aveep  ;  vex  not  yom:self  about  me. 
You  could  not  desire  a  better  change  for  me  than 
death.  What  a  blessed  change  !  God  will  raise  you 
up  other  friends.     Do  not  grieve  for  me.' 

'  We  do  not  gi'ieve  for  you,'  I  replied,  '  so  much  as 
for  ourselves.  We  wish  we  were  like  you,  and  such 
as  yovi  now  are.  You  are  going  to  be  crowned ;  we 
must  remain  to  fight  and  suffer  here.  Your  battle  is 
nearly  fought ;  ours  is  all  to  fight.' 

*  When  you  are  laid  down  as  I  am,'  she  said,  '  God 
will  deliver  you  from  the  fear  of  death.  Who  could 
view  it  with  more  terror  than  I  once  did  1  but  noic ' — 
and  she  looked  upwards — '  O  I  wish  I  were  yonder !' 

I  told  her  that  I  should  be  under  the  necessity  of 
leaving  her  again  at  the  end  of  the  week,  as  I  was 
engaged  to  assist  at  Airth  in  the  dispensation  of  the 
Supper.  She  was  somewhat  discomforted  vnth.  this, 
and  said — *  Come  back  soon,  very  soon,  as  I  wish  you 
to  be  here  when  I  die.'  She  asked  me  to  pray  vdi\\ 
her  again.  '  I  wish,'  she  said,  ^  to  be  kept  easy  during 
the  day  to  enjoy  your  conversation.  Wlien  I  think 
of  other  dying  christians,  I  fear  that  I  have  a  dead 
heart — veiy  dead ;  otherwise  I  should  feel  my  situa- 
tion to  be  more  awful  than  I  do,  and  I  would  have  it 
more  frequently  before  me.' 

Fearing  that  there  might  be  some  cloud  hovering 
about,  I  read  and  ex])lained  appropriate  scriptures, 
and  she  maintained  her  peace. 


268  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  preaching  about  since 
you  were  here.' 

'  I  have  been  two  Sabbaths  away  from  you.  On 
the  first  of  these  my  text  was,  "  Behold,  I  stand  at  the 
door,  and  knock.  If  any  man  hear  my  voice,  and 
open  the  door,  I  vriW  come  in  unto  him,  and  will  sup 
with  him,  and  he  with  me."  And  the  other  was,  "  Tlie 
path  of  the  just  is  as  the  shining  light,  that  shineth 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day."' 

'  Beautiful  texts  these !  And  what  did  you  say 
about  the  first  ?' 

In  rejily  to  her  question,  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  con- 
descension and  long-suffering  of  Christ,  as  manifested 
in  his  lia\dng  stood  so  loner  at  the  door  of  her  owii 
heart  knocking  for  admission. 

'And  how  and  with  what  does  he  knock?'  she 
inquired.     I  replied : 

'  With  his  word,  ordinances,  providences,  and  Holy 
Spirit.  The  knock  of  affliction  seems  to  have  been 
the  most  eflPectual  mth  you.  That  one  you  did  hear, 
and  you  have  opened  the  door,  and  he  has  come  in.' 

'  Yes,  John,  I  think  I  have  let  him  in.  AVelcome 
to  the  Son  of  David  !  "  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord  to  save  me  ! " ' 

'Jesus  was  resolved  not  to  lose  you,'  I  added. 
'  You  kept  him  a  long  time  standing  on  the  outside 
under  the  storm  and  tempest;  but  he  never  went 
away,  though  he  heard  you  entertaining  his  and  yom* 
owTi  enemies.     He  continued  to  stand  and  to  knock.' 


THE  ASSURANCE  OP  HOPE.  26i> 

'O  it  is  wonderful!  wonderful!'  she  exclaimed. 
'"Bless  the  Lord,  O  ni}-  soul !"' 

I  tlien  mentioned  to  her  the  principal  truths  by 
which  the  other  text  had  been  illustrated,  and  con- 
cluded by  encom'aging  her  to  continue  to  hold  fast 
her  confidence  even  to  the  end.  I  told  her  that  her 
progress  to  glory  was  as  sui'e  as  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
that  her  day  of  gi'ace  should  very  soon  be  merged 
into  her  perfect  day  of  happiness,  holiness,  and  know- 
ledge. '  For  these  reasons,'  I  said,  '  preserve  your 
resignation  to  the  will  of  God.' 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  interrupting  me  : 

' "  'Tis  sweet  to  lie  passive  in  his  hands, 
And  know  no  will  but  his."' 

Another  portion  of  the  Bible  was  then  read,  and 
afterwards  '  Willison.^  In  his  choice  sayings  of  dying 
saints  there  is  one  of  jSIr  John  Dodd,  who  had  been 
dangerously  ill,  but  had  received  a  hope  of  life  from 
his  physician  : — '  You  think,'  said  he,  '  to  comfort  me 
with  this,  but  you  make  my  heart  sad.  It  is  as  if  you 
should  tell  one  who  had  been  sore  weather  beaten  at 
sea,  and  conceiving  that  he  was  now  arrived  at  the 
haven  where  his  soul  longed  to  be,  that  he  must  go 
back  again  to  be  tossed  with  new  winds  and  waves.' 

'Now  that,'  said  Agnes,  'is  just  my  feeling.  I 
really  fear  to  think  of  life ;  though,  if  God  were  to 
spare  me,  T  trust  it  would  be  spent  in  laiowing  and 
avoiding  its  vanities,  and  to  the  praise  of  his  glory.' 


270  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

I  prayed  tmce  during  the  evening,  at  her  desire. 
Next  morning  she  sent  for  me  rather  early  to  pray 
for  her.  She  was  raised  up  and  supported  as  usual  by 
pillows  at  her  back  and  on  either  side.  She  was  so 
weak  that  we  could  not  hear  her  voice  when  she  tried 
to  speak.  I  directed  her  attention  to  the  soothing 
consolations  of  her  faith,  and  she  indicated  her  appre- 
ciation of  them  by  occasional  inclinations  of  her  head. 
Her  delight  in  and  desire  for  prayer  were  at  all  times 
ver}'  remarkable,  and  were  getting  every  day  more  so. 
She  often  regretted  that  her  sufferings  prevented  her 
from  praying  as  she  ought,  and  hence  she  employed 
any  one  for  that  purpose  with  whom  she  could  use 
the  liberty.  She  had  another  attack  of  this  weakness 
in  the  evening,  when  she  was  again  raised  up  in  bed, 
and  had  to  be  supported  by  another  brother  and  my- 
self, that,  as  much  as  possible,  the  bed-clothes  might 
not  touch  her.  Truly  she  was  not  now  a  heavy 
burden ;  but  it  was  a  sad  spectacle  to  us.  She  had 
not  power  to  uphold  her  head,  which  had  follen  for- 
ward on  her  bosom,  and  she  was  scarcely  able  to  utter 
one  w^ord.     After  a  pause,  she  whispered : 

'■  Oh  to  depart  now  !  What  a  blessed  change  fi-om 
such  sufferings !' 

'Soon  now,  my  dear  sister,'  I  said,  'will  the  Lord 
deliver  you  from  all  distress.  Job  had  many  w^eari- 
some  days  and  nights  appointed  to  him,  but  in  the 
end  he  was  greatly  rewarded.' 

In  a  little  she  said — 'Pray  again  for  me.'     I  did  so. 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOi'E.  271 

'  IIow  pleasant  —  liow  very  pleasant !'  she  taintly 
answered.  I  continued  to  speak  of  the  wonderful 
loA'e  of  Jesus  to  liei*  soul,  in  having  pitied  her,  obeyed 
for  her,  died  for  her,  risen  for  her,  and  in  now  making 
intercession  for  her. 

'Would  you  care  to  pray  again?'  she  sweetly  said. 
I  did  so,  and  then  remarked  that  she  seemed  to  take 
special  delight  in  this  exercise. 

'Yes,  I  do;  but  I  am  too  weak  now  to  exert  my 
OAvn  mind.' 

' I  trust,  ho\Aever,  that  jon  have  connnunion  Avith 
God,  and  that,  like  the  Psalmist,  your  meditations  on 
him  are  sweet.' 

'  They  are,  when  relief  from  pain  jiermits  me  to 
meditate.' 

'In  what  view"  do  you  most  love  to  contemplate 
himf 

'I  love  to  view  him  as  a  God  reconciling  me  to 
himself  through  Jesus  Christ,'  she  replied. 

As  I  was  retmng  for  the  night,  she  requested  me 
to  pray  again ;  and,  for  the  fourth  time  within  the 
last  hoiu",  I  did  so. 

August  3,  Friday If  possible,  she  was  weaker 

this  morning  than  ever.  She  tried  to  speak  to  me, 
but  could  not.  From  the  motion  of  her  lips  I  guessed 
her  wish;  it  Avas  to  'pray.'  This  was  ever  her  first 
business  in  the  morning,  and  her  last  at  night — to 
take  me  Avith  her  to  the  tlu'one  of  grace.  After 
reading  the  scriptm*es  and  conversing  on  their  soul- 


272  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

nourisliing  truths,  I  told  her  I  must  say  farewell  till 
the  beginnmg  of  next  week.     She  said  in  a  whisper — 

'  O  I  am  so  vexed  you  are  going  to  leave  me ! 
None  can  pray  with  me — none  can  talk  with  me  as 
you  do.' 

'But  I  do  not  leave  jon  comfortless.  The  Holy 
Ghost  is  your  comforter,  indeed  your  only  comforter ; 
for  what  would  it  avail  you  though  Paul  planted  and 
Apollos  watered,  if  he  were  not  to  give  the  increase  ■? ' 
She  replied — 

'  It  is  all  true ;  but  you  will  hasten  back  when 
duty  is  done.' 

I  promised  to  do  so,  though  in  the  fear  that  by  that 
time  she  should  have  gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth. 

August  7,  Tuesday. — I  retm-ned  to  Edinbm-gh 
this  evening.  Nothing  particular  had  occurred  in 
my  absence.  1  found  her  much  in  the  same  condition 
as  when  I  had  left  her.  She  appeared  to  be  lying 
rather  easy.  Her  face,  though  pale,  wore  a  sweet 
and  calm  expression.  Her  arms  were  folded  across 
her  breast,  and  her  hands  clasped,  as  if  she  had  been 
in  prayer.  We  soon  got  into  om'  usual  topics  of 
conA^ersation. 

'  You  will  remember,'  I  began,  '  chat  when  I 
returned  from  Kmross  sacrament,  you  asked  me  to 
tell  you  what  I  had  heard  m  the  services  of  that 
sacrament  which  might  be  suitable  to  you.  I  was 
Sony  that  I  could  not  then  satisfy  you  as  I  wished, 
but  I  can  do  so  now,  if  you  can  hear  me.     Last  Sab- 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  273 

batli  I  recollected  you,  and  your  request,  when  I  was 
at  the  Loi'd's  table,  listening  to  the  heavenly  ad- 
dresses of  Dr  Belfrage.  You  know  that  his  published 
addresses  to  communicants  have  obtained  for  him  just 
celebrity  in  all  the  churches,  and  I  treasured  up  two 
or  three  of  his  choice  remarks  for  you.' 

'  I  will  indeed  be  delighted  to  hear  them,'  she 
replied. 

'  You  will  relish  them  the  more,'  I  said,  '  that  Dr 
Belfrage  himself  loves  you  much,  and  has  often 
expressed  himself  to  me  as  deeply  interested  in  your 
comfort.  You  have  a  place  in  his  prayers.  I  have 
heard  him  pleading  with  God  for  you,  that  you  may 
be  carried  triumphantly,  as  were  your  dear  father 
and  mother,  to  the  close  of  your  warfare.' 

'It  is  a  blessed  privilege !  I  am  thankful  for  it. 
But  ^^l^at  did  he  say  to  you  at  the  Lord's  table?' 

I  then  repeated  to  her  the  following  passages  of 
rich  gospel  experience,  and  was  fully  recompensed 
by  the  manifold  and  manifest  joy  which  they  gave 
to  her  soul : — 

'How  beautiful  is  the  union  of  these  things :  om- 
emptiness,  and  Christ's  fulness — our  weakness,  and 
his  strength — our  sorrows,  and  his  sympathy — our 
death,  and  his  life  ! 

'  Belie\ing  communicants  !  why  do  you  refuse  tlie 

cup  of  affliction  ?     It  is  a  cup  which  a  Father's  hand 

has  mingled :  there  is  not  one  drop  more  in  it  than 

you  need ;  above  all,  there  is  not  one  drop  of  curse 

m2 


274  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

in  it — not  one  drop  of  vindictive  A^Tath.  Christ  has 
drunk  np  all  that  for  you — he  was  made  a  curse  for 
you. 

'  Suffering  believers !  you  are  Christ's  jewels,  but 
you  require  polishing.  The  Pearl  of  great  price 
himself  requires  no  polishing ;  he  has  l)een  "  made 
perfect  tlu'ough  suffering"  already ;  but  you  must  be 
made  far  more  resplendent  still,  before  you  can 
grace  and  glitter  in  his  crown ;  and  affliction  is  the 
appointed  furnace. 

'  Communicants !  nature  beholds  the  love  of  God 
only  in  the  calm  and  in  the  sunshine,  but  Faith 
beholds  it  even  in  the  storm  and  tempest ;  even  in  the 
darkest  hours  of  afflictive  adversity.  She  rejoices  in 
tribulation,  and  glories  in  her  Lord's  cross. 

'  Believers !  you  are  now  under  grace ;  you  will 
soon  be  in  glory.  And  what  is  the  difference  between 
grace  and  glory?  Simply  this,  grace  is  the  bud, 
glory  the  blossom :  grace  is  the  dawn,  glory  the 
meridian :  grace  is  the  stream,  and  gloiy  the  full 
ocean  of  life  that  flows  fast  by  the  tlu'one  of  the 
Eternal. 

'  Communicants  !  you  have  read  these  simple  but 
affecting  words  of  the  apostle  concerning  the  righteous 
men  of  former  generations — "  These  all  died  in  faith  r 
Is  not  this  a  sublime  epitaph  ?  The  heroes  of  this 
world  have  their  tablets  of  marble  and  pillars  of 
granite  raised  to  perpetuate  their  memories ;  but  how 
many  thousands  of  these  have    already   disappeared 


THE  ASSIJ11.\.XCE  OF  HOrE.  275 

under  the  wasting  influences  of  dme !  and  soon,  too, 
all  the  others  must  obey  the  same  law,  and  crumble 
into  dust ;  for  the  memory  of  the  wicked  must  rot. 
Here,  however,  is  a  monument  that  has  resisted  the 
adverse  powers  of  nearly  two  thousand  years,  and 
it  will  remain  uninjured  to  the  last  day.  If  you 
wish,  then,  to  reach  the  true  immortalisation  of  yom* 
names,  you  must  live  in  faith,  and  you  must  die  in 
faith.' 

Having  conversed  for  some  time  on  the  topics 
suggested  by  these  pleasing  thoughts,  she  seemed 
greatly  satisfied  even  with  her  condition,  and  ex- 
pressed herself  as  well  pleased  to  bear  the  rod  so 
long  as  God  chose  to  appoint  it. 

'  Let  us  pray  now,'  she  said.  I  did  so.  We  then 
again  and  again  went  over  the  glad  tidings  of  the 
gospel  about  the  birth  of  Mary's  Son,  his  obedience, 
his  passion,  his  death — themes  of  which  she  never 
grew  weary;  nay,  every  day  she  seemed  to  derive 
more  and  more  delight  from  reflecting  upon  them. 
The  song  of  salvation  was  always  new  to  her.  She 
never  new  what  sameness,  as  the  scorner  calls  it,  was, 
in  connection  with  Christ  and  him  cinicified — Christ 
and  him  risen — Christ  and  him  exalted — Christ  and 
him  glorified — Christ  and  her  meeting  -with  him — 
Christ  and  his  second  coming.  At  this  time  I  asked 
her : 

'  Are  you  willing  to  live,  if  it  be  for  the  glory  of 
Godr 


276  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

^  Yes,  I  am — even  to  live  thus,'  she  answered. 

'  Are  you  willing  to  die,  if  it  be  for  the  glory  of  God  ? ' 

^  I  am ;  but  I  would  rather  die  than  live,  if  it  be 
his  will.'     I  continued  : 

'  I  have  never  remarked  it  before,  Agnes ;  but  the 
amazing  composure  you  now  maintain,  even  in  the 
view  of  death,  solemnly  impresses  us  all.  What  a 
difference  between  you  now  and  what  you  were  six 
months  ago !  Then  a  lively,  healthy,  gay,  and  happy 
girl,  pleased,  you  often  say,  with  the  world,  and 
engaged  with  its  vanities — negligent  of  soul  concerns, 
and  mindful  only  of  the  trifles  of  time ! — nou-,  your 
heart  is  taken  from  this  evanescent  scene.  You  have 
looked  at  the  world,  and  now  you  do  not  love  it ;  you 
have  looked  at  the  cross,  and  now  you  are  not  ashamed 
of  it ;  you  have  looked  at  death,  and  now  you  are  not 
afraid  of  it ;  you  have  looked  at  heaven,  and  now  you 
prefer  it  above  your  chiefest  joy.' 

'  "By  the  grace  of  God," '  she  said,  '"I  am  what  I 
am." ' 

'  But  when  I  think  of  the  joys  and  pleasures  that 
are  at  God's  right  hand,  and  contrast  them  with  the 
trials  and  vicissitudes  of  earth,  I  cease  to  wonder  at 
your  prayer,  that  your  feet  were  standing  within  the 
gates  of  the  new  Jerusalem — ' 

She  immediately  raised  her  folded  hands,  and  lifted 
up  her  eyes,  which  threw  over  her  still  sweet  face  the 
impression  of  the  pui'e  thought  that  filled  her  soul,  as 
she  said : 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  277 

'  O  John  !  I  hope — I  hope  I  am  near  to  it — that, 
at  the  very  moment  of  my  death,  I  will  enter  it !' 

'  You  certainly  must,'  I  replied,  '  for  it  is  written, 
that  to  be  "absent  from  the  body"  is  to  be  "present 
with  the  Lord." ' 

The  idea  here  suggested  of  the  believing  soul  find- 
ing itself,  at  death,  immediately  in  heaven,  is  alike 
mysterious  with  all  that  is  at  present  known  concern- 
ing that  '  land  of  uprightness.'  It  is,  however,  evi- 
dently the  sense  in  which  we  must  understand  such 
scriptures  as  refer  to  the  subject.  Such  a  sudden 
transition  may  be  unintelligible  to  us,  with  our  pre- 
sent imperfect  information ;  but  it  is  unreasonable  to 
suj)pose  it  to  be  physically  impossible.  With  respect 
to  this,  as  to  every  other  science,  we  are  but  in  oiu* 
infancy.  An  esteemed  christian  friend,  when  con- 
versing recently  upon  this  subject,  gave  utterance  to  a 
very  simple  idea,  though  one  which  readily  occui's  only 
to  the  genius  of  sanctified  poetry.  '  I  have,'  said  he, 
'  a  more  tangible  grasp  of  the  immediate  transition  since 
the  discovery  of  the  electric  telegraph.  I  think 
I  have  now  some  conception  of  "absence  from  the 
body"  being  almost  simultaneous  with  "presence  with 
the  Lord ; "  and  also  how  it  was  that  the  thief  vipon 
the  cross  was  to  be  ''  to-day''^  with  the  Saviom*  in 
Paradise;  for  though  heaven  be  far  away,  as  we  think, 
above  yon  stany  plain,  still  we  now  know  that,  if  we 
could  but  fix  these  mysterious  Avires  even  as  high  as 
those  stars  whose  fight  has  been  travelling  with  incon- 


278  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

ceivable  velocity  towards  our  earth,  ever  since  the 
creation,  without  having  yet  reached  it,  the  commu- 
nication W'Ould,  notwithstanding,  be  instantaneous. 
In  hke  manner,  and  with  even  greater  speed,  may  not 
the  disembodied  spirit  of  the  christian  wing  its  flight 
through  space  to  its  eternal  home  ? '  The  philosopher 
tells  us  of  two  infinitudes,  that  of  space  and  that  of  the 
human  soul,  and  amuses  himself  with  the  efforts  of  the 
latter  to  sound  the  depths  of  the  former.  But  such 
efforts  must  ever  fail.  To  the  believer,  however, 
there  is  opened  up  the  sublime  and  sm*e  prospect  of 
ere  long  being  transformed  into  such  a  spirit  of  light, 
and  power,  and  purity,  as  shall  admit  of  his  boundless 
excursions  among  the  interminable  and  innumerable 
Avorlds  of  the  Redeemer's  universe. 

There  w^as  here  silence  for  some  minutes,  when, 
observing  her  thoughtfid,  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  what 
was  occupjdng  her  mind. 

'John  Oliphant  is  dead,'  she  replied.  'He  was 
only  ill  for  a  week — a  week  was  enough  for  him.'* 

'  God  has  given  you  months,'  I  said ;  '  but  qxqvj 
day  was  needed.  Though  you  have  had  much  pain, 
you  h&ve  had  many  rapturous  moments  of  connnu- 
nion  with  God." 

'  O  yes,'  she  replied,  '  I  must  say  so.  I  have  had 
pleasures  wliich  I  never  knew  before,  which  the  world 
cannot  give  to,  and  cannot  take  fi*om  me.'  t 

*  Son  of  the    late  respected    publisher    in    Edinburgh,    William 
Oliphant,  Esq. 

t  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  chap.  sii. 


THE  ASSUEAKCE  OF  norE.  279 

August  8,  Wednesday. — To  all  human  appear- 
ance, Agnes'  last  hour  had  arrived  this  morning. 
Her  weakness  was  excessive.  For  the  first  time,  she 
took  no  notice  of  me  when  I  entered  the  room,  and 
she  made  no  reply  to  my  usual  question.  She  looked, 
but  it  was  not  a  look  of  recognition.  The  usual 
prayer  was  offered  up  in  silence.  She  continued  in 
this  state  till  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  she 
sent  for  me  to  sit  beside  her.  She  had  partially 
recovered;  and  as  I  saw  she  wished  to  say  something, 
I  bent  my  ear  to  her  lips  : 

'  The  saints,'  she  said,  'speak  of  Him  as  long  of  com- 
ing; there  are  times  when  I  tlimk  him  almost  at  hand.' 

'  He  will  be  here  soon  now,'  I  replied.  '  Possess 
your  soul  in  patience  a  little  longer,  and  all  shall  be 
over,  and  3'oit  will  be  at  rest.' 

I  sat  beside  her  for  several  hours  in  the  evening, 
but  we  spake  not  together.  She  could  not  endure 
even  to  hear  our  voices,  and  she  waited  silently  but 
calmly  for  what  she  thought  was  now  to  be  her 
dismissal. 

August  9,  Thursday. — Wlien  her  eldest  brother 
was  taking  leave  of  her  this  evening,  she  said  to  him, 
'  I  hope  I  shall  not  see  you  again  on  the  earth  ! '  To 
my  delight,  she  asked  me  to  pray  with  her ;  but,  to 
my  regret,  I  saw  she  was  again  waxing  anxious. 
When  I  had  finished  the  prayer,  she  introduced  the 
subject  of  death,  saying — '  O  this  is  serious  work  !  I 
am  dying !     Death  is  near  now — very  near !     I  wish 


280  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

to  go  to  God  when  it  comes;  but  it  is  an  awful 
thing  to  die  and  be  judged !' 

'  It  is,'  I  replied ;  '  but  "  thanks  be  unto  God  who 
giveth  you  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." ' 

'  True,  true,'  she  added :  '  but  after  all,  am  I  deceiv- 
ing myself  1  Is  it  not  a  possible  thing  for  a  person 
to  fancy  himself  safe,  and,  after  all,  to  be  in  danger  T 

'  It  is  possible,'  I  replied,  '  for  the  wicked  and  the 
careless  to  bhnd  their  ow^i  minds ;  but  there  are 
evidences  Avith  which  the  people  of  God  ought  to 
assure  themselves  that  they  are  not  self-deceived.' 

'  What  are  these  ?     Tell  me— O  tell  me !' 

'  These,'  I  answered,  '  are  dishke  to  sin — contrition 
and  soiTow  on  account  of  it — love  to  Jesus — trust  in 
his  sacrifice  for  pardon,  and  in  his  blood  for  cleansing 
— looking  at  death  through  him  as  unstung,  and  at 
heaven  as  by  him  prepared  and  secured  for  your 
reception.' 

'  And  have  I  these  evidences  T 

'Yes,  you  have;  yovi  know  that  the  Spirit  of  God 
hath  wrought  within  you  these  self-same  feelings 
and  convictions,  and  your  duty  is  now  to  believe  that 
you  are  his  daughter,  and  that  you  shall  soon  "be 
brought  unto  the  King  in  raiment  of  needlework : 
with  gladness  and  rejoicing  you  shall  be  brought : 
you  shall  enter  into  the  King's  palace."" ' 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  *  all  that  is  very  pleasing ;  but  O  I 
feel  that  even  yet  a  great  change  must  be  produced 


THE  ASSUR^VNCE  OF  HOPE.  281 

upon  me  before  I  am  fit  to  enter  such  a  place,  and 
appear  in  such  a  presence !' 

'The  apostle  tells  us,'  I  rejoined,  'that  we  "shall  all 
be  changed."  That  change  is  begun  and  far  advanced, 
in  you,  and  at  death  it  will  be  consummated.  You 
remember  perfection  is  only  begun  here,  hereafter  it 
is  attained.  Rest  assured  that  the  Lord  will  "  perfect 
that  which  concerneth  you ;"  and  that  "  he  who  hath 
begun  the  good  work  will  perfect  it  unto  the  da}'  of 
Christ."  He  has  given  you  "  eternal  life,  and  none 
shall  pluck  you  out  of  his  hands." " 

'That  is  satisfactory,  very  comfortable,'  she  said, 
and  the  smile  passed  over  her  countenance,  telling 
that  the  cloud  had  disappeared.  The  Lamp  had 
chased  away  its  momentary  gloom. 

'  The  grace  of  God,'  I  continued,  '  is  not  all  that 
the  precious  blood  of  Christ  has  purchased ;  he  has 
also  bought  for  us  glory,  and  we  shall  reach  glory 
through  grace,  "We  should  never  doubt  the  issues 
of  the  work  of  redeeming  love  any  more  than  its 
beginnings.  The  beginnings  of  it  in  our  depraved 
natures  are  more  wonderful  than  the  consequences ; 
and  when  we  find  that  God  has  given  the  first- 
fruits,  we  should  not  doubt  Ms  following  it  up  by 
admitting  us  to  the  full  fruition,  either  from  the 
idea  that  in  ovir  present  condition  we  are  unfit  for 
it,  or  that  it  is  beyond  oiu'  deserts.  "  He  is  faith- 
ful who  hath  promised,"  and  he  vn\\  certainly  per- 
form it.' 


282  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  I  am  glad,  my  dear  John,'  she  said,  '  that  you  have 
given  battle  to  my  returning  veeakness ;  but  yet  I  can- 
not help  thinking  that  other  dying  christians  are  not 
so  impatient  as  I  am.' 

'  We  daily  thank  God,'  I  said,  '  because  he  has  so 
wonderfully  supported  you  dui'ing  your  long  and  sore 
distress.  But  for  his  goodness  and  mercy,  you  could 
not  have  borne  it  as  you  have  done.' 

'I  have,  however,  been  a  very  impatient  suflferer,' 
she  rejoined. 

'  We  think  not,'  I  added ;  '  you  have  been  quite 
the  contrary.  But  you  are  surely  forgetting  that  yom- 
Savioiu*  is  not  a  high  priest  who  cannot  be  touched 
with  a  fellow  feeling  of  your  infirmities,  and  that  he 
was  in  all  things  tempted  Uke  as  you  are,  yet  without 
^in.     He  is  not  a  hard  taskmaster.' 

Agnes  persevered  in  this  stram  for  some  time  longer, 
aid  again  her  difficulties  and  dreads  had  to  be  encoun- 
tered. For  a  moment  His  face  seemed  to  be  hid  from 
her ;  but,  as  usual,  with  everlasting  kincbiess  he  had 
mercy  upon  her.  The  tempter  was  making  a  last 
effort  to  bring  her  down  from  the  rock  of  her  confi- 
dence, but  she  was  '  made  more  than  a  conqueror 
tln'ough  him  that  loved  her.'  Before  I  left  her,  the 
soul  had  again  returned  'into  its  quiet  rest.'  *  To  this 
composure  she  was  brought  back  by  the  reading  of  the 
eighth  chapter  of  the  Romans.  I  had  never  before 
seen  her  listen  with  such  absorbing  attention  to  scrip- 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  pp.  285-289. 


THE  ASSURA]SrCE  OF  HOPE.  283 

ture.  She  followed  me  verse  by  verse,  word  by  word, 
frequently  repeating  after  me  any  clause  with  which 
she  was  more  particularly  impressed,  and  desiiing  me 
to  pause  or  repeat  it.  When  I  got  the  length  of  the 
last  two  verses,  she  bade  me  stop,  and  then,  with  a 
beautiful  voice  and  most  melting  emphasis,  she  recited 
that  glorious  peroration  of  the  inspired  apostle  :  '  For 
I  am  persuaded,  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor 
angels,  nor  principaKties,  nor  powers,  nor  things 
present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth, 
nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate  us 
fiom  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our 
Lord.' 

'  I  was  endeavouring,'  she  continued,  '  last  night  to 
repeat  these  verses,  but  forgot  part.' 

'  Is  it  not,'  I  asked,  '  a  most  invaluable  and  conso- 
latory portion  of  scripture  ? ' 

'  It  is  indeed,'  she  replied ;  '  and  never  did  I 
feel  its  power  and  know  its  worth  as  I  at  this 
moment  do.' 

It  was  a  word  in  season.  I  added,  '  It  would  be 
wise  for  us  to  read  the  Bible  more  frequently  than  we 
do.  It  has  been  your  guide,  your  lamp,  your  light, 
your  all,  on  this  death-bed.' 

'Yes,'  she  said.  'But  perhaps  it  were  wise  to  read 
it  more  seldom,  if  it  be  read  in  the  manner  in  Avhich 
I  was  once  accustomed.  I  remember  that  I  would 
often  read  three  or  four  chapters  at  a  time,  morning 
and  evening,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  all  was 


284  THE  ISIIGHT  LAMP. 

forgotten.  Now,  if  I  had  read  oiilj  a  few  verses,  or 
half  a  chapter,  I  might  have  remembered  it  better,  and 
profited  more  by  it.' 

At  her  request  I  now  again  read  the  twenty-third 
Psalm. 

^  O  how  we  should  prize,'  she  said,  'the  love  of  that 
kind  and  faithful  Shepherd !  It  is  to  his  love  we  owe 
all  these  great  blessings.' 

'  Would  God,'  T  replied,  '  we  could  give  him  more 
of  our  hearts  even  here !  What  a  pity  we  do  not  give 
them  up  entirely  to  him  !' 

'  He  shall  have  them  entirely  hereafter,'  she  said, 
inten'ujDting  me.  'Yes,  all — all  the  heart.  Will  you 
read  that  psalm  over  again?  for  though  I  know  it 
well,  I  am  never  weary  of  hearing  it.' 

I  read  the  psalm,  occasionally  remarking  upon  it  as 
I  did  on  that  day  when  first  I  spoke  to  her  under 
the  impression  that  she  was  in  danger.  I  obsened 
on  the  fifth  verse :  '  God  has  sj)read  the  table  of 
his  grace  before  you  even  while  lying  upon  this 
bed,  and  in  presence  of  all  your  spiritual  foes; 
yea,  here  he  hath  "caused  your  cup  to  run 
over,  and  hath  anointed  you  with  the  oil  of  glad- 
ness." ' 

The  change  of  expression  on  her  face  at  this  Avas 
startling.  The  former  fire  of  her  dark  eye  seemed  to 
have  returned.  Its  expression  was  that  of  triumph — 
yea,  of  ecstasy — as  she  exclaimed : 

'  O,  I  think  I  see  my  SaA^iour  now !     He  is  laugh- 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  285 

ing  at  my  foes,  while  he  is  carrying  me  a  wiUing 
captive  in  his  arms  towards  heaven  !' 

Here  she  suddenly  ceased.  The  look  of  joy  was 
gone,  and  in  a  low  tone  she  added,  '  If  it  be  so  that  I 
am  converted.^ 

'Agnes  !'  I  replied,  startled  at  this,  'can  it  be  that 
you  will  doubt  his  love  any  more,  or  that  you  are 
among  his  chosen  friends  f 

'  No,  no !'  she  answered  quickly,  her  face  again 
brightening  up  as  before.  '  I  think  I  see  ray  Saviour 
laughing  at  their  chagi'in.  But,  perhaps,  I  should 
not  speak  of  him  as  laughing ;  it  is  not  a  proper 
expression.  There  is  no  laughing  in  heaven.  I 
should  have  said,  smiling  with  complacency  upon  me, 
and  in  triumph  over  them  !' 

'  Your  language,'  I  replied,  '  is  not  improper ;  for  we 
read  in  the  scripture  that  he  will  ^' laugh  at  the  calamities 
of  the  wicked,  and  mock  when  their  fear  cometh." ' 

The  evening  of  this  day  was  sweetly  serene.  With 
inimitable  tenderness,  she  desired  us  to  take  from  her 
own  hands  any  little  token  of  love  we  might  desire. 
To  one  she  gave  her  pen-knife,  to  another  her  silver 
fruit-knife,  and  to  another  her  favourite  seal.  '  Keep 
these  for  my  sake,'  she  said ;  but  in  the  midst  of  her 
aflPectionate  disposal  of  these,  a  paroxysm  returned, 
and  instantly  she  was  reduced  to  a  speechless,  motion- 
less condition.  When  the  proper  attention  was  paid 
by  the  nurse,  I  saw  her  lips  move,  and  I  listened. 
She  said  feebly : 


286  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  This  is  dreadful  suffering  !  but  if  the  jewel  require 
a  brighter  polish,  I  say,  "  God's  will  be  done."  Still, 
you  may  pray  for  Christ  to  come  to  me.  Sui*ely 
there  is  no  sin  in  that !' 

After  uttering  a  short  prayer,  and  a  few  words  of 
consolation,  I  left  her,  and  the  last  words  I  heard  her 
repeat  as  I  retired,  were  these — 

'This  and  Heaven!' 

It  would  be  unjust  to  Agnes  if,  from  her  desires  of 
relief,  it  were  supposed  that  she  had  waxed  impatient, 
or  that  she  looked  vipon  the  dispensation  of  God  wdth 
dissatisfaction.  She  at  the  first  did  sometimes  express 
her  Avonder  that  she  shotild  have  been  the  one  selected 
for  such  an  early  death,  but  by  this  time  all  that  sort 
of  feeling  w^as  gone.  She  was  perfectly  pleased  with 
what  God  had  done  to  her,  and  '  glorified '  him  in  con- 
sequence. She  reminded  us  of  the  seraphic  Payson, 
in  one  of  his  beautiful  dying  sayings  :  '  It  seemed  this 
afternoon  as  if  Christ  said  to  me,  "  You  have  often 
wondered  and  been  impatient  at  the  way  by  which  I 
have  led  you,  hut  ichat  do  you  think  of  it  noio  ?"  And 
I  was  cut  to  the  heart  when  I  looked  back  and  saw 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  by  which  I  had  been  guided, 
that  I  could  ever  for  a  moment  distrust  his  love.' 

August  10,  Friday.^ — This  morning  I  vrent  to 
see  and  pray  with  her.  She  had  had  a  weary  night, 
and  was  unfit  for  the  least  exertion.  It  was  painfully 
evident  that  death  could  not  be  far  away.  She  could 
no  longer  take  part  in  spiritual  exercises;  prayers  and 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  287 

hymns  were  laid  aside,  'sweet  Willisoii'  had  done  his 
last  service,  and  nothing  but  the  Word — the  quick  and 
powerful  Word  of  God — could  be  at  intervals  whispered 
into  her  ear.  Even  the  name  of  her  beloved  Saviour 
was  seldom  heard  from  her  lips.  This  diminution  of 
religious  intercourse  was  a  new  trial.  It  was  not  easy 
all  at  once  to  siu'render  those  heavenly  pleasures  which 
had  for  so  long  a  period  been  enjoyed  in  her  dying 
chamber.  It  had  indeed  been  a  time  of  care  and 
sorrow,  but  one  also  of  joy  and  hope,  arising  from 
the  grand  and  stately  spectacle  of  a  soul  like  hers 
gradually  rising  from  spiritual  death,  and  carried 
triumphantly  over  all  the  suggestions  of  the  sceptic, 
and  all  the  weakness  of  natm^e.  But  it  was  even  so — 
these  must  now  almost  entirely  cease ;  her  prayers  and 
her  communings  must  now  be  with  God  alone.  The 
work  was  becoming  too  holy  for  others  to  be  asso- 
ciated vrith  its  progress.  The  Spirit  was  carr}- ing  it  on 
by  his  own  enhghtening  and  confirming  influences ; 
and  though  A^-ith  a  rending  heart,  the  task  that  had 
been  assigned  to  us  was  now  laid  aside.  From  this 
period  she  spoke  but  little,  but  it  was  evident  that  she 
was  as  busy  as  she  could  be  in  girding  up  '  the  loins 
of  her  mind.'  Occasionally  during  this  day  she  was 
overheard  saying,  'I  thank  God — I  thank  God.''  Once 
she  was  asked  if  we  might  repeat  a  favourite  hymn  to 
her,  but  she  refused.  Wlien  any  of  us  approached  her 
bed,  she  would  say,  '  Hush,'  and  raise  her  feeble  hand 
to  motion  us  awav.     It  was  most  evident  from  her 


288  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

whole  demeanour  that  she  was  every  moment  expect- 
ing death,  and  that  she  wished  to  be  in  full  readiness 
to  welcome  Jesus.  In  the  afternoon  she  overheard 
her  yomigest  brother,  who  had  that  day  obtained  a 
]5rize  in  the  High  School,  complaining  that  a  boy  in  a 
lower  class  than  his  had  received  a  prize  of  equal 
value.  She  called  him  to  her,  and  said  very  gently, 
'Remember,  my  dear  Andrew,  the  parable  of  the 
labourers  in  the  vineyard ;  they  who  came  at  the 
eleventh  hour  received  their  penny,  as  well  as  those 
Avho  had  come  in  the  morning.  If  you  have  received 
what  is  your  due,  you  should  be  content.'  There  was 
again  a  long  inter\^al  of  perfect  quietness,  after  which 
she  signified  a  wish  for  me  to  lean  down  and  hear  a 
request.  I  did  so,  and  with  some  difficulty  she  made 
out  the  following : — 

'  I  wash  to  advert  to  a  worldly  matter,  and  after  that 
I  think  I  shall  have  done  with  the  world.  William 
cannot  listen  to  me  about  these  things,  but  you  are 
more  firm,  and  you  can  hear  me.  You  know  how 
kind  and  attentive  my  nurse  has  been.  I  wish  her  to 
get  the  new  shawl  which  I  purchased  to  wear  this  last  ■ 
winter;  say  to  her  that  this  was  my  dying  request. 
You  will  also  find  in  my  ch'essing-box  a  piece  of 
money,  give  it  fi'om  me  to  the  servant  who  has  had 
so  much  trouble  wdth  me.' 

I  assured  her  all  her  wishes  would  be  attended  to, 
and  after  a  brief  prayer,  which  she  requested,  we  sat 
alone  in  silence.     About  an  hour  afterwards  I  saw  her 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  289 

making  an  effort  to  speak.  I  listened,  but  could  not 
make  out  wliat  slie  wished  me  to  do.  The  words 
'comfort'  and  'death'  I  thought  were  uttered,  and  not 
wishing  to  give  her  the  pain  of  repetition,  I  answered 
as  if  I  liad  understood  her  to  refer  to  our  comfort 
in  her  death.  But  she  intimated  that  I  had  misunder- 
stood her,  and  with  some  difficulty  I  heard  her  say — 

'In  many  accounts  of  dying  christians  which  I 
have  read,  I  think  they  had  the  comfort  of  being  told, 
an  hour  or  so  before  death,  that  it  was  just  at  hand. 
Now,  am  I  to  have  that  comfort  1  Tell  me  if  death 
be  near.' 

'  It  cannot  be  far  away,'  I  said  ;  '  but  the  hour  no 
man  can  tell.' 

'  I  know,'  she  replied.  '  God  only  knows  the  very 
hour ;  but  sometimes  friends  have  an  idea  of  when  it 
may  be.  For  instance,  in  that  "  Mother's  Joiu'nal," 
which  I  have  been  reading,  she  told  her  daughter  that 
she  should  die  that  night.  Now  am  I  to  die  this 
night  ? '     I  answered  : 

'  All  I  can  say  is,  that  from  your  exhausted  state, 
it  cannot  be  ver)^  long  now.' 

'  Well,'  she  said,  '  that  is  more  explicit.  I  did  not 
know  that  before.' 

'  Surely,'  I  said,  '  if  it  be  the  will  of  God,  you  are 
not  averse  to  live  *? ' 

'  No!'  she  answered. 

'  If  you  are  in  Christ  Jesus,  what  may  be  the  exact 
moment  of  yom'  death  need  not  trouble  you.' 


290  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

'  I  am  not  troubled  about  it,'  she  said ;  '  I  only 
thought  to  have  received  the  same  comfort  which 
other  dying  christians  have  had  from  their  friends — 
the  comfort  of  laiowing  how  soon  I  shall  be  in  glory.' 

'  Wait  still  on  the  Lord,'  I  added ;  '  and  remember 
Dr  Belfrage's  words :  "  This  is  a  cup  which  a 
Father's  hand  hath  mingled." ' 

'  Yes,'  she  replied ;  '  and  that  was  another  beautiful 
idea  of  his  about  the  polishing  of  the  jewels  for  the 
crown  of  Christ.  But,  John,  there  is  a  very  fine 
passage  of  scripture  which  you  were  wont  to  use  in 
your  prayers,  and  you  have  omitted  it  for  some  time : 
"  What  are  these  which  are  aiTayed  in  white  robes  ? 
and  whence  came  they  ?  These  are  they  which  came 
out  of  great  tribulation,  and  have  w^ashed  their  robes, 
and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb." ' 

'  Yes,'  she  added,  with  considerable  firmness,  after 
thinking   for   a  httle   on   this    scripture.      '  Yes  ;    I 

THINK  I  AM  NOW  CONFIDENT  OF  MY  SALVATION  !  I 
AM  SURE  OF  GOING  TO  HEAVEN,  AND  I  HOPE  YOU 
WILL  ALL  FOLLOW  !'* 

Not  only  with  these  words  themselves,  but  with  the 
indescribable  meekness,  and  at  the  same  time  firmness, 
with  which  they  were  uttered,  were  our  hearts  glad- 
dened. Her  soul  had  now  reached  the  summit  of 
Pisgah,  from  which  the  promised  land  of  Canaan 
burst  upon  her  view.  From  this  moment  no  clouds 
ever  rested  upon  or  gathered  near  her  high  place. 
*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  p.  289,  to  the  end  of  chap. 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  291 

Her  exercise  seemed  now,  and  up  to  death,  to  be  a 
perpetual  gazing  from  this  position  upon  the  glorious 
prospect  which  had  at  length  been  opened  up  to  her 
fiiith.  Pendant  upon  the  wings  of  Hoj)e  and  Love, 
her  tranquil  spirit  \A'as  ever  on  the  alert  to  fly  away ; 
and  so  intent  was  she  upon  her  translation,  that  it  was 
only  now  and  then  that  she  could  be  induced  to  look 
down  upon  the  weeping  mortals  that  stood  gazing 
upwards,  in  admiration  of  her  exalted  state.  It  was 
indeed  a  glorious  winding-up  of  a  complicated,  a 
mysterious,  and  a  tempestuous  passage  through  this 
bleak  and  waste  howling  wilderness ;  and  we  gave  God 
thanks  that  we,  too,  were  privileged  to  behold  om-  sister 
in  the  possession  of  celestial  happiness  even  before  she 
ceased  entirely  to  be  of  this  world.  Though  sadly 
weakened  in  body,  and  still  occasionally  agonised  with 
pain,  never  did  her  peaceful  spirit  descend  from  the 
splendid  peak  of  this  spiritual  Nebo  to  which  she  had 
been  Hfted  up.  From  her  silence,  and  the  deep  im- 
pressive solemnity  of  her  manner,  it  was  evident  she 
was  now  almost  continually  occupied  in  realising  the 
beauties  and  glories  of  Paradise,  and  in  seeing  and 
hearing  what  '■  it  was  not  lawful  for  a  man  to  utter.' 
Her  looks  sometimes  told  of  unspeakable  work  within 
and  beyond  her,  and  we  could  have  fancied  her  in 
rapturous  communion  with  some  lovely  sister  sj:)irits 
hovering  over  her  couch.  As  we  stood  looking  upon 
her,  we  could  scarce  believe  that  where  there  was  such 
suffering  there  could  be  such  placidity.     We  thought, 


292  THE  KIGHT  LAMP. 

'  Lovely  thou  art  I  yet  none  may  dare 

That  placid  soul  to  move. 
Most  beautiful  thy  braided  hair — 
But  awful  holiness  breathes  there, 
Unmeet  for  earthly  love.' 

Her  whole  manner  carried  tis  back  to  the  brilhant 
death-bed  of  her  sainted  mother,  and  noio  we  saw  the 
answer  to  that  prayer  which  went  up  to  God  for  her 
only  daughter,  as  she  gave  the  last  kiss  to  Agnes,  and 
laid  her  in  the  bosom  of  everlasting  covenant  love. 
True,  her  dear  child  had  had  some  chilling,  dreary 
days  since  the  hour  of  her  orphanage,  and  latterly  she 
had  passed  through  '  the  fires  ;'  but  the  God  of  the 
parents  had  never  ceased  to  watch  over  and  secure 
the  soul  of  the  child.  And  there — there  it  is  now, 
'  whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body'  we  scarce  can 
tell,  so  j)ure,  so  calm,  so  wrapped  in  the  peace  and  joy 
of  believing  is  this  daughter  of  Zion.  The  only  scrip- 
ture which  we  could  venture  to  put  into  her  mouth,  as 
expressive  of  what  were  her  feelings,  is  the  song  of 
Mary:  'My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  my 
spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour.  For  he  hath 
regarded  the  low  estate  of  his  hand-maiden :  for, 
behold,  from  henceforth  all  generations  shall  call  me 
blessed.  For  he  that  is  mighty  hath  done  to  me  great 
things  ;  and  holy  is  his  name.  And  his  mercy  is  on 
them  that  fear  him  from  generation,  to  generation. 
He  hath  holjien  his  servant  Israel,  in  re- 
membrance of  his  mercy ;  as  he  spake  to  our  fathers, 
to  Abraham,  and  to  his  seed  for  ever.' 


TEIE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  293 

August  11,  Saturday. — Any  conversations  with 
her  after  this  were  mere  snatches  from  such  moments 
ot"  ease — and  they  could  only  be  styled  moments — as 
were  granted  to  her,  and  when  we  did  venture  to 
disengage  her  fi'om  that  invisible  fellowship  with 
which  she  was  intensely  occupied.  She  suffered  a 
great  deal  all  this  day  in  '  the  earthly  house  of  her 
tabernacle ; '  so  much  so,  that  we  supposed  it  next  to 
impossible  that  the  frail  tenement  could  stand  out 
many  minutes  against  such  incessant  attacks.  But 
the  '  inner  man  '  was  at  rest — 

'  The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 

Let  in  new  light  through  chinks  which  suffering  made.' 

We  engaged  in  prayer,  after  which  I  asked  if  she 
were  perfectly  happy.  A  look  not  to  be  mistaken  was 
the  response.  '  It  is  His  will,'  I  continued,  '  that  you 
suffer  still,  but  I  hope  the  serenity  within  is  unruffled.' 
A  second  look  said  eloqu.ently,  ^Yes.^  As  it  was  my 
painful  duty  to  leave  her,  and  for  the  last  time,  this 
afternoon,  I  reminded  her  of  it.  She  took  no  notice 
of  what  I  said,  though  she  kept  her  eye  fixed  upon 
me.  About  an  hour  afterwards  she  sent  for  me,  and 
desired  me,  as  we  Avere  alone,  to  pray  once  more  with 
her.  I  did  so,  poui'ing  out  my  heart  on  her  behalf 
before  God  the  Father,  committing  her  over  and  over 
again  to  him,  and  beseeching  him  to  be  near  her  to 
the  last,  and  at  the  last  to  glorify  her  va\\\  the  glory 
that   is   his   own  —  committino;    her   to    the   blessed 


294  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Redeemer,  that  he  might  continue  to  smile  upon  her 
while  in  the  swelhngs  of  Jordan,  and  to  keep  himself, 
as  tlie  '  star  that  came  out  of  Jacob,'  revolving  above 
her  in  this  '•  hoiu"  and  power  of  darkness' — and  com- 
mitting her  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  that  he  might  continue 
to  send  his  ^  light  forth  and  his  tnitli,'  so  that  her 
feet  might  not  stumble  on  any  dark  mountain.  Hav- 
ing finished,  I  brought  myself  up  to  say  what  I 
believed  must  be  the  final  farewell,  and  the  following 
simple  conversation,  carried  on  in  whispers,  closed  the 
scene : 

'  I  am  compelled  to  leave  you  now,  Agnes,  and  God 
only  knows  wdiether  we  shall  ever  meet  again.' 

A  holy,  happy  look  upwards  passed  a  smile  over  her 
death-like  face  as  she  replied — 'In  heaven,  John,  I 
hope,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God.' 

'  I  am  leaving  you  strong  in  the  faith  of  oui'  Lord 
Jesus  r 

'  Yes: 

'You  are  relying  Avholly  and  alone  upon  his  justifj- 
ing  rio;hteousness  ? ' 

'  I  am.' 

'  You  leave  this  world  without  regret  1 ' 

ado.'* 

'  Even  all  its  gaieties,  amusements,  treasures,  hopes?' 
'  Yes,'  she  said  firmly.    '  All — all,  even  you  and  my 
dearest  friends.' 

There  was  here  a  brief  pause,   till  she  had  her 

*  See  'The  Hiding  Place,'  p.  272. 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  HOPE.  295 

parched  mouth  moistened  with  a  httle  wine.  I  then 
said,  '  Farewell,  Agnes ! '  She  took  my  hand  in  hers, 
and  held  it  firmly,  saying,  'Farewell,  my  dear 
brother ! '  and  then  she  uttered  a  few  words  so  indis- 
tinctly that  I  could  not  make  them  out.  I  guessed 
that  she  was  asking  me  to  pray  ere  we  parted,  and 
asked  her  if  I  would  do  so.  '  No  ! '  she  replied,  as  if 
I  had  interrupted  her.  'Pray  always — always!'  She 
continued  to  hold  my  hand  in  hers ;  and  from  her 
appearance,  I  saw  that  she  herself  was  engaged  most 
fervently  in  prayer.  After  a  minute  or  so  she  Tet  fall 
my  hand,  saying, '  Now  ! '  with  considerable  emphasis ; 
and  she  closed  her  eyes.  I  left  the  room.  Many  a 
time  had  I  prayed  for  her ;  but  now  she  would  give 
the  grand  conclusion  to  the  work — the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  work  of  this  hallowed  chamber.  She  her- 
self  would  pray.  Her  prayer,  however,  was  not  for 
herself.     May  Jehovah  hear  that  prayer ! 


CHAPTEE    X. 


©eatfj  anti  tfie  ffira&e. 

'  0  death,  where  is  thy  sting?     0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory?  ' — Paul. 

'  0  look  upon  her  face  :  Eternity 
Seems  shadowed  there  !     A  pure  immortal  calm, 
Whose  presence  makes  the  tumults  of  this  world 
Pass  like  a  fleeting  breeze,  and  through  the  soul 
Breathes  the  still  ether  of  a  loftier  clime.' 

John  Wilson. 

In  bringing  these  scenes  and  conversations  to  a  close, 
the  reader  is  requested  to  mark  what  has  been  their 
chief  characteristic — extreme  simplicitu.  The  secret 
Kes  in  this — Agnes  was  in  earnest.  Earnestness 
chooses  few  words,  and  these  words  plain  and  forcible ; 
they  speak  to  the  point  at  once,  and  leave  no  suspicion 
as  to  their  real  meanino;  and  desio;n.  Havino;  but  one 
object  in  view,  and  that  object  the  salvation  of  her 
soul,  she  was  never  at  a  loss  to  express  herself,  and 
never  tempted  any  beside  her  to  mismiderstand  what 
she  said,  or  to  conceive  either  too  much  or  too  little  of 
her  peculiar  feelings  at  the  time.  Slie  Avas  an  honest 
and  upright  inquirer  into  the  truth,  after  she  was  fau'ly 
set  upon  preparation  for  what  was  at  hand ;  and  every 


DEATH  AXD  THE  GRAVE.  297 

one  who  had  the  privilege  of  conversing  with  lier  on 
her  death-bed,  retired  fi'om  her  under  the  conviction 
that  her  singleness  of  mind  was  the  most  beautifully 
transparent  featui'e  in  her  character.  This  was  indeed 
one  of  her  main  excellences  from  childhood,  and  her 
dying  work  only  gave  it  more  serious  employments, 
and  more  ample  scope  for  illustration. 

It  is  impossible  to  overvalue  simplicity  of  charac- 
ter, especially  in  religion.  It  is  this  that  discovers 
religion  in  its  true  colours — in  its  proper  elements. 
Artifice  and  ostentation  hide  its  beauties,  and  un- 
veil their  own  gairish  and  changing  hues.  There 
have  been  far  more  splendid  dpng  scenes  than  the 
one  now  contemplated,  if  we  include  the  powerful 
conversations  of  the  higher  order  of  intellectual  gifts, 
and  the  more  graphic  and  imposing  pictures  w^hich 
genius,  inspired  by  christian  faith,  has  sometimes 
drawm,  when  engaged  with  the  dark  elements  of  death, 
or  contemplating  the  exciting  prospects  of  eternal  life. 
Nor  would  we  undervalue  such  surprising  and  fascina- 
ting scenes  as  these ;  we  assign  to  them  at  once  a  more 
exalted  place  among  the  annals  of  the  soul's  conflicts 
Avith  the  king  of  terrors.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  study  of  such  sublime  combats  and  revelations 
has  a  tendency  to  concentrate  attention  upon  the 
personal  eminence  of  the  sufferer,  or  upon  the  moral 
mightiness  of  the  christian  religion  to  wield  such 
influences   over    superior   and   accomplished    minds. 

We  cannot   peruse  such    nari'atives   without   gi%ang 
n2 


298  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

glory  to  God  for  subduing  to  his  Son's  cross  these 
intellectual  principalities  and  moral  dominions.  In 
the  plam  and  artless  discoveries,  howe^-er,  of  the 
death-bed  before  us,  it  is  likelj  that  its  solemn  appeals 
\vill  be  echoed  from  a  greater  nmnber  of  hmnan 
hearts.  It  is  not  so  much  the  sufferer  herself,  nor  the 
mere  material  and  structure  of  her  observations,  that 
command  attention,  as  the  truths  of  religion  in  all  their 
own  importance,  and  in  their  necessary  connection 
with  the  soul's  safety  now,  at  death,  and  for  ever.  It 
is  religion  that  speaks,  and  that  is  spoken  about ;  and 
it  is  the  thrilling  interest  wliich  the  faith  of  its  neces- 
sity for,  and  its  adaption  to,  the  wants  and  destinies  of 
the  immortal  soul,  gives  to  the  narrative,  that  forms 
its  sole  claim  upon  the  reader's  respect.  Every  one 
feels  that  if  this  be  the  '  one  thing  needful'  for  a  dying 
day,  it  is  not  after  all  beyond  his  reach.  There  is  no- 
thing here  to  confound  the  most  child-lil^e  mind,  no- 
thing here  luiapproachable  by  the  most  timid  disciple; 
and  the  spiritual  conflict  which  is  re^s-iewed  rather 
excites  than  chills  the  earnest  ardom'  of  the  youngest 
soldier  of  the  cross.  In  the  study  of  the  higher 
achievements  of  some  djdng  gladiators,  the  humble 
followers  of  the  Lamb  have  been  apt  to  doubt  whether 
they  after  all  have  been  converted ;  but  none  of  the 
children  of  God,  we  humbly  think,  can  go  away  from 
such  a  death-bed  as  this  without  '  thanldng  God  and 
taking  courage.' 

Besides,  in  the  study  of  such  conversations  as  Agnes', 


DEATH  j^J^fD  THE  GRAVE.  299 

we  are  using  the  true  test  by  which  to  try  the  genuine- 
ness of  her  conversion  to  God ;  by  which,  in  short,  to 
prove  the  sincerity  of  profession,  and  the  genuineness 
of  piety.  Sometimes  the  germ,  the  element  of  godK- 
ness,  is  so  concealed  among  the  exuberance  of  fruit 
and  foliage  that  it  is  apt  to  be  overlooked ;  and  per- 
adventure  some  may  pass  for  christians  who  never 
tasted  and  found  God  to  be  good,  whilst  others  may 
have  conceded  to  themselves  the  praise  and  the  glory 
which  were  due  to  divine  principles  and  divine  grace. 
In  reviewing,  however,  the  unpretending  exercises  of 
this  gentle  christian,  we  see  less  of  the  person  and 
more  of  the  principle — less  of  nature  and  more  of 
grace — less  of  man  and  more  of  God.  We  behold  in 
the  very  heart  of  every  development  of  christian  faith 
and  practice,  the  true  and  only  germinating  power 
— even  the  Holy  Spirit — and  we  witness  the  very  pro- 
cess at  work  which  his  impulsive  touches  set  and  keep 
in  motion,  for  the  dissemination  of  pure  vital  influence 
tlu'ough  the  various  capacities  of  the  believer's  sancti- 
fying natui'e.  It  is  from  within  the  circle  of  such 
enterprises  as  Agnes'  that  the  invitation  comes  with 
melting  effect :  '  Come  hear,  all  ye  that  fear  God,  and 
I  will  tell  you  what  he  hath  done  for  my  soul.' 

Independent  of  all  this,  how  alFectingly  do  the 
simple  exercises  of  Agnes'  death -bed  preparation 
illustrate  the  tender  mercies  and  the  wonderful  faith- 
fulness of  God  himself!  We  know  how  many  and 
how  precious  are  the  promises  which  he  has  made  to 


300  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

encourage  us  to  love  and  j^ut  our  trust  in  him,  espe- 
cially in  our  days  of  trouble  and  at  our  night  of  death. 
Here,  then,  do  we  see  him  in  the  plenitude  of  his 
compassion,  in  the  power  of  his  gTace,  and  in  the 
riches  of  his  covenant  engagements,  fulfilhng  his 
promises  to  the  '  prisoner  of  hope.'  Nothing  happened 
to  her  that  was  strange.  She  said — ' "  I  know,  O 
Lord,  that  thy  judgments  are  right,  and  that  thou  in 
faithfulness  hast  afflicted  me." '  She  confessed  that 
God  had  been  good  to  her  beyond  her  expectations, 
and  that  there  were  no  truer  words  in  the  Bible  than 
these  :  '  God  is  a  very  present  help  in  trouble ;'  '  God 
is  in  the  midst  of  her ;  she  shall  not  be  moved  :  God 
shall  help  her,  and  that  right  early ;'  '  Thou  wilt  keep 
him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on  thee, 
because  he  trusteth  in  thee ;'  and  '  God  is  able  to  do 
exceeding  abundantly  above  all  tliat  we  ask  or  think, 
according  to  the  power  that  worketh  in  us.'  Under 
these  impressions  of  the  importance  and  uses  of  such 
naiTatives  as  the  present,  we  proceed  to  draAv  the  veil 
over  tlie  last,  the  solemn  hoiu's  and  works  of  this 
patient,  and  now  fully-assured,  believer  in  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ. 

August  12,  Sabbath. — This  was  her  last  Sabbath 
on  earth.  Before  another  dawned  she  had  entered 
upon  her  everlasting  rest,  and  had  joined  the  ran- 
somed of  the  Lord  in  asci'ibing  worthiness  to  the 
Lamb  who  was  slain.  The  previous  night  had  been 
what  most  of  the  nights  of  the  preceding  six  months 


DEATH  AXD  THE  GRAVE.  301 

had  been — one  of  restlessness  and  distress  ;  but  what 
many  of  these  nights  liad  not  been — one  of  perfect 
tranquilhty  of  mind,  and  joyful  anticipation  of  '  rest.' 
She  was  now  assured  that  death  could  not  be  far 
distant ;  and  this  enabled  her  to  bear  up  under  suffer- 
ings which  might  othenvise  have  sadly  discomposed 
her.  Indeed,  such  was  her  manner  of  endurance,  that 
it  was  only  when  she  Avas  asked  about  it,  that  she 
admitted  her  pain  to  be  still  great.  In  the  morning 
of  this  hallowed  day,  she  reclined  in  the  arms  of  her 
brother  William,  where  many  a  time  her  wearied  head 
had  lain  and  sunk  to  rest.  She  became  suddenly  very 
faint  and  weak,  and  her  sight  left  her.  '  If  this  be 
death,'  she  said  quickly,  '  then  I  will  die  where  I  have 
often  wished  to  die — in  your  arms ;  and  surely  I  am 
now  dying !  O  blessed  Jesus — blessed  Jesus — thou 
art  coming  now  !  Behold  he  comes — he  comes  !  I 
thank  thee,  my  Saviour,  for  coming  at  last.  "My 
soul  has  thirsted  for  thee ;  my  flesh  has  longed  for 
thee  in  a  dry  and  thirsty  land !"  But  what  do  I  see  ? 
Look  there !  What  bright  and  shining  hght  is  that  ? 
It  is  a  light  bright  as  the  sun  in  the  firmament.  It  is 
Jesus  !     Come,  Lord  !     O  come  quickly  !' 

It  is  impossible  to  give  anything  lil^e  a  true  and  full 
account  of  this  scene.  She  continued  for  a  long  time 
to  express  herself  in  language  of  rapturous  dehglit 
and  holy  triumph — gazing  with  her  eye  and  pointing 
with  her  finger  at  some  glorious  object  beside  her, 
and  calling  him  by  name  her  oaati  and  her  adorable 


302  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Redeemer.  They  were  so  overpowered  on  this,  as 
they  had  been  on  similar  occasions  before,  that  they 
could  not  recollect  either  the  abundance  or  the  beauty 
of  her  language.  At  last  she  ceased  from  pure 
exhaustion,  and  reclined  her  head  again  on  her 
brother. 

'Has  it  been  all  a  delusion  theni'  she  inquired  in  a 
few  minutes  from  this,  and  in  a  pitiful  and  disap- 
pointed tone  of  voice.  'Am  I  still  here?  and  yet 
what  wondrous  Hglit  was  that  which  appeared  to  me! 
Can  my  imagination  have  been  deceived  by  the  light 
of  the  morning?  "Nevertheless,  O  Lord,  thy  mil 
be  done." ' 

She  had  been  impressed  that  her  hour  was  come, 
and  gave  her  Lord  that  rapturous  welcome  which  she 
had  for  so  long  been  preparing  for  him.  It  was  rather 
soon,  but  not  much  too  soon ;  and  with  regard  to  what 
her  eyes  beheld,  it  becomes  not  a  stranger  to  inter- 
meddle. 

'  This  is  the  day  which  the  Lord  hath  made,'  she 
said  again  ;  '  and  it  will  be  one  continued  Sabbath  in 
heaven.  Read  to  me  that  hymn  of  the  dying  chris- 
tian, beginning,  "  The  hour  of  my  departm'e's  come."  ' 
Her  wish  was  complied  with. 

Towards  evening,  she  took  her  last  adieu  of  her 
eldest  brother.  Their  parting  was  beautiful  and 
melting ;  it  was  a  simple  bu.t  a  sublime  scene. 

'I  am  under  the  painful  necessity  to  leave  you, 
Agnes,'  he  said. 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  303 

'  Farewell,  dear  James  !'  she  replied  very  feebly. 
'Have  you  nothincy  important  to  say  to  me?' 
'  Love  to  all/  she  replied ;  '  my  dying  love.' 
'  No  doubt  you  preserve  your  faith  and  confidence 
strong  and  immovable  V 

'  I  hope  I  do/  replied  the  meek  child  of  heaven. 
As  his  latest  farewell  fell  upon  her  ear,  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  made  no  audible  response.  There  was 
weeping  in  the  chamber,  but  no  tear  fell  from  her. 
He  had  reached  the  door,  but  retiu'ned  to  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  and,  softly  withdi'awing  the  curtains,  he  was 
taking  his  last  look.  He  thought  she  was  asleep,  and 
whispered, '  I  shall  never  see  her  again  !'  In  a  moment 
her  eyes  opened,  and  she  slowly  and  solemnly  raised 
her  feeble  arm,  and  pointing  with  her  finger  upwards, 
said,  '  In  heaven,  James !'  and  then  she  shut  her 
eyes  and  saw  him  no  more.  Ah  !  there  was  an  appeal 
which  even  flinty  hearts  coidd  not  have  resisted.  No 
doubt  her  farewell  with  him  was  the  same  as  that 
which  had  been  given  to  the  writer  on  the  pre^'ious 
day.  She  was  praying  for  him.  God  in  his  mercy 
grant  that  that  prayer  also  may  receive  an  abundant 
answer  in  his  blessed  and  eternal  experience  !  How 
affectingly  descriptive  were  these  few  words,  and  that 
heavenly  attitude  of  her  own  unclouded  and  perfect 
hope  of  bliss  and  immortality  beyond  the  gTave ! 
Pier  thouo-hts  were  now  as  high  as  heaven  itself. 
With  the  eye  of  the  eagle,  as  well  as  on  eagle's  wings, 
she  had  soared  upwards,  and  with  piercing  look  had 


304  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

discovered  her  own  liappy  liome,  to  wliicli  she  invited 
those  near  and  dear  to  follow  her. 

Later  in  the  evening  she  expressed  a  wish  for  one 
to  pray  with  her.  She  was  asked  if  she  could  listen 
to  one  of  Willison's  prayers,  which  she  had  often  read 
with  great  satisfaction.  She  refused,  sajdng,  '  I  wish 
one  specially  adapted  to  myself.  Go  and  ask  my 
uncle  to  come  and  pray  mth  me.'  Her  uncle,  Mr 
Husband,  who  was  in  the  house,  came  and  prayed 
with  her.  This  was  exceedingly  pleasant  to  her.  He 
had  been  as  a  father  to  her  ever  since  she  was  father- 
less, and  she  loved  him  vnth  all  her  heart.  His  spirit, 
too,  has  rejoined  that  of  his  lovely  niece  in  Clmst's 
Father's  house. 

'  You  are  firm,  dear  Agnes,'  he  said,  '  on  the  Rock 
of  Ages.' 

'  O  yes,'  she  rephed,  \finn,  I  trust,  in  God.  It  is 
written,  "  None  perish  that  him  trust ;"  also,  "  God  is 
not  a  man  that  he  should  He."' 

Thus,  however  enfeebled  her  bodily  strength  was, 
lier  mind  was  as  strong  and  clear  as  ever — still  calmly 
reconnoitring  the  foundations  of  her  faith — still  able 
to  give  a  reason,  a  scriptural  reason,  for  the  hope  that 
was  in  her.  Though  she  lay  quiet,  she  was  by  no 
means  idle — she  was  constantly  busy.  She  was  ob- 
served, a  little  after  this,  to  be  engaged  in  prayer. 

'  1  hope  you  remember  us  still  in  prayer  ? '  said  one 
of  her  brothers. 

'  Yes,  I  do,'  she  rephed.     It  was  rejoined : 


DEATH  AND  THE  GEAVE.  305 

'  Perhaps  it  is  God's  pui'pose,  in  jonr  early  afflic- 
tion and  death,  to  secure  our  salvation.  Supposing 
this  to  be  the  case,  are  you  willing  to  be  made  a 
sacrifice  for  us  V 

'Yes,'  she  answered,  'my  life  cheerfvdly,  but  not 
my  soul.^ 

Ere  parting  with  them  for  the  night,  she  said  to  the 
nurse  and  others  in  the  room  : 

'  I  often  ask  forgiveness  of  God  for  my  impatience, 
and  I  know  he  will  grant  it.  I  Avish  now  to  ask  yovu's 
for  all  my  fretfulness,  and  for  all  the  trouble  you  have 
had  with  me.' 

'  We  have  nothing  to  forgive,'  replied  William,  'but 
rather  great  reason  to  thank  God  for  the  wonderful 
fortitude  with  which  you  have  borne  the  burden  and 
heat  of  a  long  day  of  suffering.' 

August  13,  Monday. — I  did  not  expect,  on  my 
return  to  Edinburgh  this  forenoon,  to  see  her  in  life ; 
but  in  life  I  found  her,  and  what  was  most  afflictive, 
still  the  victim  of  acute  suffering.  I  saw,  however, 
the  unmistakeable  signs  of  approaching  dissolution. 
I  scarcely  knew  her ;  her  sweet  expression  was  entu'ely 
gone ;  the  smile  of  welcome — the  symbol  of  a  living 
intelligence — seemed  to  be  gone  also — all  gone.  A 
lesson  of  humility  might  have  been  learned  there. 
She  lay  and  suffered,  but  not  one  murmur  escaped 
her  lips.  I  asked  her  if  I  might  pray  with  her.  She 
gave  no  assent.  Some  hours  afterwards  the  nurse 
came  at  her  request,  and  I  prayed.     I  then  proceeded 


306  TFIE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

to  what  proved  the  last  of  a  long  series  of  addresses 
upon  the  rich  and  strong  consolations  of  her  holy  faith. 
She  never  once  took  her  eye  from  me ;  and  never  had 
I  seen  her  give  such  keen  attention,  the  more  especially 
when  I  came  to  speak  of  the  perfect  safety  of  the  be- 
liever in  Jesus — of  the  beauty  and  bliss  of  that  land 
she  was  so  soon  to  enter — and  of  the  privilege  of  the 
saints  in  having  Immanuel  himself,  the  King  of  the 
country,  to  conduct  them  over  Jordan.  '  The  moment,' 
I  continued,  '  your  immortal  soul  is  at  liberty,  you  will 
find  that  Jesus  is  at  hand — that  he  will  take  you  up 
in  his  arms,  and  carry  you  in  his  bosom  homewards.' 

Even  in  her  strangely  altered  coiuitenance,  I  could 
discover  what  was  working  's^dthin.  Occasionally  the 
eye  sparlvled  with  pxire  delight ;  and  when  I  closed 
with  the  above  words,  she  could  contain  no  longer, 
and  exclaimed  as  in  triumph — ' "  Yea,  tfiough  I 

WALK  THROUGH  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF 
DEATH,  I  WILL  FEAR  NO  EVIL  :  FOR  THOU  ART 
WITH  me;  THT  rod  and  THY  STAFF  THEY  COM- 
FORT ME  !" ' 

With  these  words  her  christian  testimony  was 
wound  up,  and  thus  closed  for  ever  a  brother's  contri- 
butions to  the  peace  of  a  dying  sister's  soul.  During 
the  course  of  the  day,  she  manifested  an  anxiety  that 
M^e  should  not  leave  the  room,  as  she  wished  us  all  to 
see  her  die.  For  the  first  time  lier  mind  seemed  to 
wander,  but  only  a  little,  and  for  the  most  part  her 
exercise  seemed  to  be  prayer.     Deep  sighs  and  heavy 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  307 

moanings  told  of  sinking  nature ;  and  we  expected  that 
as  the  sun  went  down,  she,  too,  would  pass  away  into 
realms  beyond  its  light.  But  she  sur\dved  this  sunset, 
and  ere  I  left  her  for  the  evening,  I  for  the  last  time 
accompanied  her  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  prayer. 
This  was  indeed  the  closing  supplication,  the  latest 
uplifting  of  our  souls  together,  the  last  knock  which 
we  gave  at  the  gates  of  the  celestial  city.  Soon  after 
this  they  were  thrown  open,  and  she  disappeai'ed  fi'om 
oiu'  view. 

'  I  weary  to  see  Him.  Oh,  when  shall  I  see  Him  ? 
Shall  I  see  him  to-night,  nurse  *? '  * 

'In  all  likelihood,  ma'am,  you  will  be  in  heaven 
soon  now.' 

'  But  to-ni(jht,  nurse  ?  Shall  I  see  Him  tins  night  ? ' 
were  the  last  words  we  heard  as  we  left  her  chamber. 

August  14,  Tuesday. — Though  not  within  her 
room,  this  last  night  was  a  wakeful  one  to  us  all. 
Very  pitiful  and  heart-melting  were  the  moanings 
which  occasionally  sounded  through  the  silent  habita- 
tion fi'om  the  dying  maiden.  Frequently  during  its 
watches  did  she  urge  her  nurse  to  bring  us  to  see  her 
die.  Early  in  the  morning  we  stood  beside  her.  How 
mysterious,  we  said,  is  Providence — she  still  lives ! 
Such  M^as  her  condition  that  neither  prayers  nor 
words  of  comfort  could  be  presented,  though  it  was 
pleasant  to  see  that  her  soul  was  still  calm  and  confi- 
dent. 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  p.  353,  to  the  end  of  chap. 


308  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

During  the  whole  of  this  forenoon  we  watched 
closely  by  her  bedside ;  she  was  so  weak  that  we 
feared  she  might  at  any  moment  leave  us.  She  was 
evidently  under  the  same  impression,  and  signified  her 
wish  that  none  of  us  should  quit  the  room.  She  could 
not  speak,  but  she  looked  upon  us  most  sweetly,  and 
said  a  thousand  farewells  in  every  look.  Her  smile, 
too,  returned  to  her  pale  face,  the  first  herald  of  that 
joy  of  which  she  was  so  soon  to  partake.  Her  whole 
expression  seemed  to  say — 'I  am  near  Him  and  Home. 
In  a  few  minutes  I  shall  be  in  his  bosom.  Soon  this 
weary  bed  I  Avill  resign,  and  suffer  pain  no  more— all 
my  doubts  and  fears  are  gone — I  am  ready  to  be 
offered.  I  leave  you  all  without  a  tear — weep  not 
for  me.  Be  sure  and  live  so  that  this  parting  shall  be 
only  temporary !  I  charge  you  to  meet  me  in  heaven. 
O  how  glorious  the  prospect ! '  Though  she  had 
uttered  these  sentences,  we  could  not  have  more  clearly 
apprehended  her  thoughts.  While  thus  conversing 
with  us,  we  noticed  her  eyes  gently  closing;  it  was 
about  two  o'clock,  and  thinking  she  was  merely  falling 
on  sleep,  we  were  pleased  and  grateful ;  it  was  the  only 
thing  like  sleep  that  we  had  seen  her  enjoy  for  months. 
We  expected,  however,  that  ere  she  died  we  should  be 
favoured  with  some  sublime,  some  heavenly  scene, 
such  as  imparted  to  her  mother's  last  moments  so 
memorable  an  interest,  and  that  that  prayer  for 
Agnes  which  passed  fi'om  the  dj^ng  mother's  lips, 
as  her  spirit  was  on  the  wing  for  glory,  should  now 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  SOD 

in  some  remarkable  way  be  beard.  The  course  of 
our  sister's  dying  work  contributed  to  beget  such 
hopes  and  wishes ;  for  ah'eady  on  several  occasions  she 
had  evidenced,  by  her  manner  and  expressions,  her 
nearness  to  the  spiritual  world,  and  her  mysterious 
discernment  of  its  hidden  glories.  But  such  was  not 
the  will  of  our  heavenly  Father.  Truly  we  had  seen 
and  heard  what  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  us  that  there 
is  even  before  death,  between  believers  and  the 
'  powers  of  the  world  to  come,'  a  reality  of  com- 
munion and  a  vividness  of  perception  which  comes 
very  close  upon,  if  it  does  not  actually  touch,  the  con- 
fines of  Paradise.  Her  silence  this  forenoon  we  felt  to 
be  somewhat  painful.  On  reflection,  we  now  saw  that 
her  work  was  by  for  too  heavenly  for  utterance. 
She  lay,  as  we  thought,  in  deep  and  refreshing  sleep, 
till  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  we  became 
alarmed  at  its  continuance.  None  there,  save  the 
nm'se,  had  ever  seen  death  before;  and  impressed  with 
the  fear  that  she  might  die  Avithout  one  last  look  of 
love,  w^e  gently  tried  to  awaken  her.  It  was  in  vain. 
The  last  thing  of  which  she  took  notice,  was  the  music 
at  family  worship  in  the  morning,  and  the  next 
melody  that  broke  upon  her  ears  rose  from  the 
hosannahs  of  the  ransomed  in  the  choirs  above.  She 
did  not  return  to  consciousness  here. 

About  ten  o'clock  this  night  w^e  w^ere  all  standing 
at  her  couch,  and  it  was  proposed  that  we  might 
engage  in  family  de\otions,  and  once  more  entreat  the 


310  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Lord  together  to  take  her  to  himself.  We  retired  to 
the  dining-room.  Part  of  the  thirty-fourth  Psahn  was 
selected  for  praise,  and  just  while  we  were  singing 
these  lines, 

'The  troubles  tliat  afflict  the  just 
In  number  many  he  : 
But  yet  at  length  out  of  them  all 
The  Lord  doth  set  them  free,' 

the  nurse  rushed  into  the  room,  and  called  upon  us  to 
'  make  haste.'     In  an  instant  we  were  beside  Agnes. 

She  had  often  instructed  the  nurse  to  be  sure  and 
inform  her  Avhen  she  thought  the  last  moment  had 
an-ived.  This  the  faithful  attendant  had  done.  Ob- 
serving upon  her  strangely  altered  face  the  symbol  of 
dissolution,  she  took  Agnes'  hand,  saying — 

'  Now,  dear,  do  you  hear  them  singing  the  praises 
of  God?  You  are  about  to  depart  and  sing  his 
praises  in  heaven.' 

As  we  entered  the  room  she  had  just  been 
raised  up,  and  was  supported  as  usual  by  pillows  on 
each  side.  The  dim  light  of  the  taper  revealed  her 
now  haggard  features;  her  eyes  slowly  opened,  she 
looked  all  round  the  room,  gave  one  beautiful  smile, 
and  then  the  eyelids  fell,  and  a  still  more  glorious 
sight  was  opened  to  her  view.     She  was  gone  ! 

And  so  she  died  at  length  !  While  we  were 
singing  as  a  family  on  earth,  she  began  her  song  as 
one  of  the  family  in  heaven.  The  niu'se,  at  my  re- 
quest, brought  the  Bible,  and  I  laid  it  down  upon  the 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  31 1 

attenuated  body.  She  liad  now  no  need  of  its  light ; 
God  and  the  Lamb  were  her  hght  now^ ;  but  we  needed 
it,  for  the  darkness  of  death  was  around  us,  and  hav- 
ing read  a  portion  of  these  scriptures,  the  knowledge 
and  faith  of  which  had  wrought  such  great  things  for 
our  departed  sister,  we  concluded  the  death-bed  work 
by  casting  ourselves  upon  the  care  of  Him  who  had 
bereaved  us  of  one  alike  lovely  and  beloved,  and  that 
in  a  way  calculated  to  alarm  us  into  serious  thought, 
and  draw  us  into  the  path  of  the  just. 

And  so  she  died  ! — and  without  a  struggle — a 
calm  termination  to  a  stormy  voyage.  I  now  closed 
those  eyes  which  had  so  often  beamed  upon  me  with 
the  light  of  intelligence  and  love,  kissed  the  pale 
cheek,  and  left  the  chamber  of  death  : — 

'  Go,  peaceful  shade !  exchange  for  sin  and  care 
The  glorious  jjalm  which  patient  sufferers  wear : 
Go  take  the  meed  victorious  meekness  gains — 
Go  wear  the  crown  triumphant  faith  obtains. 
Those  silent  graces  which  the  good  conceal, 
The  day  of  dread  disclosure  shall  reveal : 
Then  shall  thy  mild,  retii'ing  virtues  rise. 
And  God,  both  judge  and  witness,  give  the  prize.' 

August  15,  Wednesday. — We  entered  the  cham- 
ber as  usual  this  morning — the  chamber  now  of  deatli 
• — not  to  inquii'e  how  she  had  passed  the  night,  for  wo 
knew  she  had  been  in  consummate  felicity,  and  in  the 
bloom  and  health  of  immortality;  not  to  ask  if  her 
faith  remained  steadfast  on  Jesus,  for  we  knew  that 


312  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

faith  witli  lier  had  passed  into  vision ;  not  to  ask  her 
to  go  witli  us  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  prayer,  for  we 
knew  that  she  was  now  before  the  throne  of  glory  in 
praise ;  not  to  weep  for  her  sufferings,  for  we  knew 
that  all  tears  were  wiped  away  from  her  eyes ;  but  we 
went  into  lier  chamber  to  weep  for  ourselves — to  pray 
for  ourselves,  and  to  gaze  upon  her  precious  dust. 
While  thus  mourning  for  our  dead,  a  kind  Providence 
interfered,  and  sent  one  to  comfort  us  whom,  above  all 
others,  vre  most  desired  to  see.  This  was  that  venerable 
man  of  God,  Mr  Browni  of  Inverkeithing.  He  had 
come  to  see  Agnes,  to  hear  her  beautiful  dpng  testi- 
mony, and  to  ]5ray  with  her  before  she  died.  His  former 
visit,  it  may  be  recollected,  was  upon  the  day  on  which 
she  was  first  apprised  of  her  danger,  and  his  last  was 
when  all  that  danger  had  been  bravely  encountered  and 
gloriously  triumphed  over  by  this  youthful  christian. 
Very  solemn  and  suitable  were  his  achnonitions  to  the 
survivors  of  the  family,  especially  his  urgent  entreaties 
A\dth  them  to  remember  their  Creator  in  the  days  of 
their  youth ;  to  walk  worthy  of  those  '  who  through 
faith  and  patience  were  now  inheriting  the  promises,' 
and  to  '  fight  the  good  fight  of  faith,'  that  in  the  end 
they  might  receive  the  cro^Am  of  life.  Havmg  offered 
up  a  melting  and  earnest  prayer,  the  aged  saint  took 
his  departure  evidently  under  peculiar  feelings,  to 
which  his  thoughts  of  other  years,  and  his  associations 
with  the  deceased,  would  impart  a  deep  and  sacred 
impression. 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  313 

But  preparations  must  now  be  made  to  comply  with 
tlie  dying  wash  of  Agnes  about  the  place  of  her  inter- 
ment. The  messenger  who  had  been  despatched  to 
Fifeshire  on  the  previous  evening  to  inform  relatives 
of  her  decease,  returned  this  forenoon  wath  information 
that  all  things  would  be  in  readiness  for  receiving  the 
body.  Her  affectionate  uncle  came  over  to  Edinburgh, 
and  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements.  On  the 
evening  of  Thursday  the  16th,  we  laid  her  remains  in 
the  coffin,  and  having  taken  the  last  fond  look  of  love, 
it  was  carried  to  the  sable  hearse,  which  slowly  moved 
from  that  dwelling  to  which  she  had  gone  in  the  be- 
ginning of  winter  with  high  hopes  of  earthly  enjoy- 
ment, but  where  had  been  administered  to  her  work 
of  a  more  awfal  and  important  character.  The  hearse 
was  accompanied  by  two  of  her  brothers  and  her  uncle, 
Mr  Husband. 

It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  evenings  which  autumn 
sometimes  gives  us,  and  scarce  one  cloud  lay  cradled 
in  the  clear  blue  sky,  as  the  ftuieral  of  Agnes  moved 
slowly  along  the  spacious  streets  and  squares  of  the 
Scottish  capital,  which,  with  all  its  gaieties  and  beau- 
ties, was  speedily  left  behind.  The  Queensferry 
road  was  next  reached ;  and  seldom  does  the  varied 
and  picturesque  scenery  which  lines  the  whole  of 
that  noble  highway  appear  so  grand  and  impos- 
ing as  it  did  on  this  memorable  night.  The  sear 
and  yellow  leaf  was  just  beginning  to  hint  the 
departure  of  summer  and  the  winter's  approach.     The 


314  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

reapers  were  singing  cheerfully  as  they  wended 
their  way  homewards  from  the  harvest  fields.  In 
the  far  west,  the  snn  was  going  down  in  his 
glory,  reflecting  his  rich  and  mellowed  hght  on 
Edina's  palaces  and  towers,  and  giving  to  the  waters 
of  the  majestic  Forth  the  appearance  of  one  burnished 
sheet  of  living  gold.  Everything,  indeed,  in  nature 
was  as  sublime  and  fascinating  as  either  the  heart  of 
poetic  devotion  or  of  lofty  piety  could  desu'e.  To  the 
funeral  party,  however,  the  charms  of  the  scenery 
seemed  to  have  fled.  They  were  not  interested  in  its 
beauties  as  of  old.  Often  with  her  whose  '  mortahty' 
they  were  now  accompanying  to  the  grave,  had  they 
traversed  that  road  on  then-  way  to  and  from  Fife- 
shire;  and  none  had  more  highly  appreciated  than 
she  its  numerous  and  variegated  landscapes.  Only  a 
few  months  before  they  had  surveyed  it  all,  and 
together  had  expatiated  on  its  lights  and  shades  ;  but 
the  thoughts  of  the  living  rose  this  eve  to  the  happy 
and  holy  land  of  Beulah  where  she  now  dwelt,  and 
to  the  raptui'ous  exercises  of  song  and  love  in  which 
she  was  now  perpetually  engaged. 

By  the  time  they  reached  South  Queensferry,  the 
moon  had  risen,  and  was  casting  her  silvery  light  upon 
the  waters ;  the  little  island  lying  in  the  bosom  of  the 
river,  seemed  as  if  clothed  in  virgin  white,  to  mourn 
for  the  maiden  who  shall  never  again  hail  it  in  pass- 
ing. A  few  minutes  were  allowed  for  the  reqmred 
arrangements ;  the  ferr_yTiien  soon  got  all  ready,  and 


DEATH  AND  THE  GRAVE.  315 

having  carried  down  tlie  coffin  to  the  pier,  it  was 
lowered  into  the  boat.  The  night  was  cahn,  and  the 
stream  was  smooth ;  the  rowers  were  hardy  and 
weather-beaten  men,  but  they  spoke  not  a  word.  The 
only  sounds  that  were  heard  being  the  regular  beat 
of  their  oars,  or  the  sio;hino;  of  bereavement  ch'awn 
from  the  guardians  of  the  dead.  The  last  time  Agnes 
had  gone  over  that  stream,  was  in  returning  from  a 
youthful  party  in  her  native  town, — then  all  life  and 
glee ;  now — '  O  that  we  were  wise ;  that  we  under- 
stood this ;  that  we  would  consider  our  latter  end ! ' 

If  the  ride  on  the  south  side  had  awakened  bitter 
reminiscences,  that  on  the  north  of  the  Forth  did  not 
tend  to  allay  them.  On  the  contrary,  every  spot  of 
ground  there  was,  as  it  were,  written  all  over  with 
her  name.  On  these  Waldean  hills  she  had  rambled 
in  girlhood ;  in  that  and  the  other  farm-house  she  had 
made  herself  a  favourite  with  old  and  young;  and 
alike  in  the  abodes  of  the  rich  and  the  huts  of  the 
poor,  she  bore  a  name  that  is  yet  held  in  affectionate 
remembrance.  But  what  sounds  are  these  which 
startle  the  moui'ners  fi'om  then'  reverie  ?  It  is  the  bell 
of  the  old  Abbey  tolling  the  hour  of  eleven,  and  now 
the  houses  and  spires  of  her  birth-place  appear  in  the 
sombre  but  imposing  relief  of  moonlight.  At  length 
the  carriages  are  arrested,  and  the  remains  of  Agnes 
are  borne  into  the  room  of  that  dwelling-house  which 
but  recently  she  had  left  in  hope  and  health. 

On  that  day  week  that  she  died  she  was  buried. 


316  THE  NIGHT  LAMP. 

Beneath  the  shade  of  the  ancient  abbey,  and  almost 
mider  the  window  of  the  apartment  where  the  unfor- 
tunate Charles  the  First  was  bom,  her  body  now 
reposes,  by  the  side  of  her  sainted  parents. 

'  Lone  in  the  rural  cemet'ry  thou'rt  sleeping  ; 

Sleep  on  in  peace,  thy  pilgrimage  is  done. 
WUd  through  the  sky  the  wintry  winds  are  sweeping, 

But  all  thy  storms  are  past — thy  prize  is  won  ; 

Thine  was  a  weary  race,  but  now  'tis  run. 
Thy  toils,  thy  tears,  thy  struggles  all  are  past, 
And  thou  hast  closed  thine  eyes  in  peaceful  sleep  at  last.' 

And  now,  dear  reader,  this  narrative  must  be  closed. 
Have  you  found  out  its  threefold  moral  *?  If  you  have, 
you  must  by  this  time  have  resolved  to  put  no  longer 
any  confidence  in  the  mere  externals  of  religion ;  to 
seek  with  all  your  heart  the  saving  change  produced 
by  the  Spirit  of  God  in  regeneration,  and  to  '  search 
the  scriptures,'  as  the  only  and  infallible  guides  to 
Christ,  to  God,  to  Heaven.  If  you  are  old,  and 
not  yet  'iN  Cheist,'  make  haste  to  him ;  it  is  not  yet 
too  late.  You  have  yet  another  '  now.'  He  waits 
upon  you.  If  you  are  middle  aged,  and  not  yet  out 
of  the  world,  make  haste  to  have  the  world  crucified 
to  you  and  you  to  the  world.  If  you  are  young,  decide 
at  once  to  consecrate  yourself  to  Christ,  and  you  are 
certam  to  be  received  into  his  afiections,  and  to  find 
an  interest  in  his  divine  favour.  It  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  Bible  that  anv  who  seek  him  late  shall  find  liim  ; 


DEATH  iVND  THE  GRAVE.  317 

but  it  is  Avritten  there,  'I  love  them  that  love  me,  and 
those  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me.'  And  may 
the  Lord  in  his  mercy  gi'ant  that  such  be  now  your 
happy  experience !     Amen.  * 

*  See  '  The  Hiding  Place,'  cliap  xvii. 


GLASGOWi 

PKINTED  BY  8.  AND  T.  DUJJN, 

14  Prince's  Square. 


o2 


PUBLICATIONS   BY  DR  INIACFARLANE. 


Just  Published,  Crown  Octavo,  Price  5s. 
I.  THE  HIDING  PLACE: 

OR,   THE    SINNER   FOUND    IN    CHRIST. 

'  The  author  of  this  volume  is  already  widely  known  as  an  instructive 
and  attractive  writer.  It  may  not  perhaps  possess  the  brilliancy  and 
splendour  which  are  thrown  around  some  of  the  scenes  pictiu-ed  forth  in 
the  delineation  of  his  "  Mountains  of  the  Bible,"  or  the  pathos,  and 
solemnity,  and  artistic  skill  which  gave  to  the  biography  of  his  "  Night 
Lamp"  its  profound  and  entrancing  interest.  But  while  it  has  all  these 
features,  at  least  in  a  very  high  degree,  it  has  in  common  with  the  latter 
volume  that  deep-toned  seriousness,  that  adaptation  to  the  wants  and 
anxieties  of  a  mind  in  earnest  about  its  salvation,  which  has  rendered  it 
so  eminently  useful  to  serious  inquirers,  and  so  great  a  favourite  in  the 
chambers  of  afHiction  and  death.  The  field  which  the  author  has 
marked  out  for  himself  in  "  The  Hiding  Place  "  is  extensive,  and  it  is 
trodden  with  ease  and  dignity.  The  objects  of  thought  are  often  magni- 
ficent, always  important ;  and  they  are  clothed  with  the  richest  drapery 
or  handled  with  the  solemn  seriousness  which  they  respectively  require. 
There  is  no  trifling — no  subtile  and  nice  disquisitions — no  far-fetched 
dreamy  fancies.  The  subjects  are  obviously  felt  to  be  too  sacred,  too 
solemn,  and  the  interests  at  stake  too  weighty.  The  volume  brings 
before  the  mind  a  mine  of  rich,  massive,  solemn  scriptural  truth,  and 
cannot  fail,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  to  produce  a  gi'eat  amount  of  practi- 
cal good.' — Dr  Kitto's  Journal  of  Sacred  Literature. 

'  The  design  of  this  work  is  eminently  practical.  The  commentary 
given  by  Dr  Macfarlane  on  the  subhme  and  significant  titles  given  to 
the  Messiah  in  the  expressive  Hebrew  terms  quoted  by  him,  is  worthy  of 
his  reputation.  It  will  be  found  not  only  chaste  in  its  style,  and  elo- 
quent in  its  illustrations,  but  very  suggestive  of  most  important  truths, 
which  even  ministers  themselves  do  not,  we  fear,  exhibit  so  freely  as 
they  might.     In  the  study,  therefore,  of  the  pastor,  as  well  as  in  the 


closet  of  the  anxious  inquirer,  or  the  true  believer,  this  is  a  book  -whicli 
ought  to  be  a  welcome  and  abiding  guest.  We  give  "  The  Hiding  Place" 
our  hearty  commendation.' — The  Christian  Times. 

'  A  young  person  supposed  to  be  unacquainted  with  the  gospel  plan  of 
saving  a  sinner,  could  not  finish  the  careful  perusal  of  this  volume  without 
having  a  very  satisfactory  idea  of  the  grand  outlines  of  the  plan ;  and 
besides  finding  his  head  so  much  enhghtened  by  its  clear  and  compre- 
hensive statements,  he  would  feel  his  heart  attracted  by  the  affectionate 
and  impressive  manner  in  which  the  truth  had  been  set  before  him. 
We  give  the  book  our  cordial  commendation.  Its  theme,  its  theology, 
its  literature,  its  earnestness,  its  thoroughly  practical  spirit,  will  win  for  it 
a  claim  to  hold  close  companionship  with  "  The  Night  Lamp."' — Chris- 
tian Journal. 

*  This  volume,  with  all  the  freshness,  and  vigour,  and  genial  glow  of 
its  predecessors,  bears  the  marks  of  still  more  careful  preparation.  With 
as  much  of  the  lively,  and  ornate,  and  ardent,  there  is  more  of  condensed 
thought,  of  solid  matter — more  of  the  "apples  of  gold,"  without  any 
shortcoming  in  the  "  pictures  of  silver."  We  have  no  doubt  it  will  not 
only  sustain,  but  extend  the  already  well-earned  reputation  and  useful- 
ness of  its  author.  The  work  is  of  a  kind  loudly  called  for  by  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  the  times.  What  is  now  wanted  is  a  class  of 
works  abounding  in  the  clear  and  broad  statement,  and  vigorous  and  ear- 
nest enforcement  of  the  distinguishing  truths  of  Christianity,  cast  into  a 
form  adapted  to  popular  impression — and  to  this  class  the  present  work 
of  Dr  Macfarlane  belongs.  We  recommend  our  readers  to  procm-e  "  The 
Hiding  Place."  Its  richness  in  scriptural  matter,  its  variety  of  topic  and 
illustrations,  its  unflagging  liveliness  and  force  of  style,  its  continual 
turns  of  ingeniously  practical  applications,  its  evangelical  unction,  and 
its  thrilling  tone  of  earnestness,  stamp  it  with  no  common  value,  and  we 
heartily  desire  for  it,  as  we  have  no  doubt  it  will  secure,  a  wide  and 
growing  circulation.' —  United  Presbyterian  Magazine. 

'  The  different  topics  are  admirably  arranged  as  a  system.  The  illustra- 
tion is  characterised  by  the  lively  style,  the  clearness,  and  force,  and  the 
power  of  practical  appeal,  which  distinguish  the  author's  other  writings. 
We  can  with  all  confidence  and  earnestness  recommend  it  to  religious 
families.' — Keko  Chronicle. 


'The  plan  of  this  book  is  alike  interesting  aad  ingenious.  The  idea 
is  equally  novel  and  attractive.  It  is  a  treatise  which  is  as  comprehen- 
sive and  masterly  in  theology,  as  it  is  invaluable  and  specific  in  dealing 
with  almost  every  phrase  of  spiritual  experience.  Dr  Macfarlane  has 
sought  to  occupy  a  high  department  of  authorship  in  this  work,  in  whicli 
it  requires  the  noblest  order  of  intellect  to  excel ;  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  he  has  brought  into  the  field  a  characteristic  freshness  of  thought 
and  feeling,  together  with  a  vivacity  of  style  which  will  command  and 
deserve  success.' — Glasgow  Chronicle. 

'  Dr  Macfarlane's  new  work,  "  The  Hiding  Place,"  contains  a  great 
mass  of  gospel  truth,  set  forth  in  a  graceful  and  lively  manner,  in  a  forci- 
ble style,  and  with  much  and  varied  illustration.' — Hogg's  Instructor, 

' "  The  Hiding  Place  "  is  a  most  creditable  performance — not  a  mere 
ornate  yet  frigid  composition,  but  lively,  vigorous,  and  thoroughly  satu- 
rated with  richest  gospel  truth.' — Scottish  Christian  Journal. 


\l    THE    NIGHT    LAMP: 

A  Narrative  or  the  means   bx  which   Spiritual   Darkness 

WAS    DISPELLED    FROM    THE    DeATH-EED     OF    AgNES     MaXWELL 

Macfarlane.     Third  Edition,  crown  8vo,  price  5s. 

'  We  do  not  wonder  at  its  popularity.  It  is  a  story  of  thrilling  in- 
terest, told  by  an  affectionate,  intelligent,  and  ardent  mind ;  in  a  style 
energetic,  flowing,  ornate,  and  yet  chaste.  If  parents  and  guardians 
would  take  our  counsel,  they  would  introduce  it  into  the  chamber  of 
every  child  and  pupU  entrusted  to  their  care,  and  especially  to  the 
private  rooms  of  them  so  happily  designated  by  Mrs  Ellis  "  the  daugh- 
ters of  England" — and  if  publishers  who  seek  to  promote  godliness,  as 
well  as  to  get  gain,  when  they  issue  their  prospectuses  of  "  Ladies' 
Libraries,"  would  place  at  the  head  "  The  Night  Lamp,"  as  introduc- 
tory to  the  Memoirs  of  Mrs  Graham,  Mrs  Judson,  Mrs  Newall,  Lady 
Colquhoun — they  would  confer  a  boon  for  which  the  christian  world 
would  be  most  grateful.' — JDr  Kitto's  Journal  of  Sacred  Literature. 


'  This  work  possesses  the  elements  of  true  and  continuous  popularity. 
It  is  a  history  of  spiritual  life  which  can  scarcely  be  matched.' — 
Eclectic  Review. 

'  It  will  ever  remain  green  and  fragrant  lohile  the  world  lasts.  We 
trust  the  publication  of  it  was  a  thought  from  God.  It  will  fill  up  a 
niche  in  the  memoirs  of  the  day.' — Evangelical  Magazine. 

'  To  be  at  all  appreciated,  it  must  be  read,  and  they  who  read  it 
will  remember  it  for  ever.  We  predict  for  it  equal  popularity  with 
Newman  Hall's  "  Christian  Philosopher."  ' — British  Banner. 

'  Dr  Macfarlane's  book  has  taken  its  place  akeady,  far  above  the 
region  of  mere  criticism,  in  the  dim  chambers  of  the  sick,  and  by  the 
bed-sides  of  the  dying,  who  have  felt  that  it  is  "  good  for  it "  to  be 
there.  This  is  true  fame.  It  is  a  well- written  and  charming  volume.' — 
George  Gilfillan. 

'  In  every  religious  family  it  should  find  a  resting-place,  and  more 
especially  in  the  family  of  every  minister  of  Christ.' — United  Presby- 
terian Magazine. 


III.   THE    MOUNTAINS    OF    THE    BIBLE: 

Their  Scenes  and  tiieik  Lessons.     Third  Thousand,  post  8vo, 
price  6s,  with  Illustrations  by  Finden. 

'  The  idea  of  the  book  is  at  once  simple  and  sublime.  It  required 
a  combination  of  faculties  which  are  rarely  united  to  execute  it  with 
comprehensive,  appropriate,  and  practical  application.  It  is  no  mean 
praise  to  certify  that  Dr  Macfarlane  has  produced  the  best  series  of 
discourses  on  the  subject  which  as  yet  have  been  published.  The  work 
is  the' production  alike  of  an  accomplished  and  devout  mind.' — Eclectic 
Review. 

'This  is  a  most  interesting  subject,  most  admirably  handled.  The 
fire  with  which  the  eloquent  pen  of  the  gifted  author  has  been  touched 
is  fire  from  the  altar.' — JSPPhaiVs  Magazine. 

'  The  excellence  of  the  plan  is  fitted  of  itself  to  secure  the  success  of 


the  execution.       The  imagination  is  enkindled  by  the  first  glimpse  of 
the  scenes  to  which  it  is  introduced.' — Evangelical  Magazine. 

'  This  is  a  capital  book.  The  subject  is  interesting,  the  plates  are 
beautiful,  the  title  is  taking,  and  the  execution  is  animated,  clever, 
picturesque,  and  practical.' — George  Gilfillan. 


(^Conjointly  with  Eev.  Dr  M'Kekrow,) 

IV.    REV.    HENRY    BELFRAGE,    D.D., 

HIS  LIFE  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 
8vo,  price  6s,  with  Portrait,  engraved  by  Hole.     Pp.  360. 

'  A  work  highly  honourable  to  Dr  Belfrage,  creditable  to  the  com- 
pilers, and  profitable  to  the  church.  The  great  variety  of  occurrences 
excited  in  our  bosom,  in  the  course  of  perusal,  an  interest  all  but 
romantic' —  United  Secession  Magazine. 


V.  MEMOIR  OF  THE  LATE  REV.  JOHN  CAMPBELL. 

12mo,  price  2s  6d.     Pp.  264. 

'  Mr  Campbell  was  not  only  a  pious  and  excellent  man,  but  a  zealous, 
laborious,  and  excellent  minister,  and  deserves  to  be  held  in  grateful 
remembrance  by  the  church.' — D.  Dewar,  D.D.  LL.D. 


(Conjointly  with  the  Rev.  John  Keb.J 

VI.    CHRISTIAN    OLD    AGE: 

Being  the  Two  Discourses  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Death  of  the  Rev.  William  Kidston,  D.D.,  Glasgow.  8vo, 
price  Is  6d.     Pp.  70. 

LONDON:  J.  NISBET  &  CO.,  21  Berners  Street. 


b./  c 


